When He Woke
by Harkpad
Summary: Clint wouldn't go see Phil after he woke up from the coma induced by Loki's spear. Phil didn't ask to see Clint, either. Clint and Phil realize that just because Phil is alive and Clint is no longer 'compromised' by Loki, things aren't going back to normal. What Loki took was more subtle than a chest wound and the loss of control. Coming back to each other is hard.
1. Chapter 1

Clint wouldn't go see Phil after he woke up from the coma induced by Loki's spear. Phil didn't ask to see Clint.

"Clint," Natasha said, opening the door to the archery row at Stark Tower. She was dressed for sparring and Clint had lost track of the time. He turned after emptying his quiver and looked at her. She looked upset, which, for Natasha, meant a bit more raise of the eyebrow and a tad stiffer posture. Not a lot, but enough.

"Yeah, what's wrong?" he said, moving to put his bow back in the case; he'd been down there long enough for now.

"Come with me, okay?"

"Nat, what's going on?" he said, following her out the door.

She didn't answer, but not long after they left the archery row he figured out where she was going and he stopped. "No," he said, turning on his heel and going the other way.

"Dammit, Clint—he's asking for you," she said, stepping in front of him and blocking him.

He was tempted to shove her, but knew that he was already pushing his luck here. "No, he's not, Natasha," he said, dropping his voice, "And I don't appreciate you trying to make me think he is."

She paused, tilting her head and sighing, but not denying his claim. "It's been three days, Clint. He's been awake for three days and you've seen him once."

He narrowed his eyes and stepped around her. She let him. "When he actually does want to see me he'll find a way to let me know," he said, and he went back to the range to shoot some more.

He shot until his arms just wouldn't take any more, and then he showered, and grabbed a couple of protein bars and some chocolate milk from the kitchen. Then he rode the elevator all the way down to the basement and made his way up into the rafters. Goddamned tower didn't have rafters anywhere else.

He climbed for about ten minutes and finally settled down in a far corner and ate his snack and drank the milk. Then he wrapped his arms around his knees and felt himself start to rock back and forth with his head on his arms.

"_Clint," Phil said, putting his hand on Clint's cheek. "It's going to work out. We can do this if we want." _

_Clint laughed a little hysterically. "Yeah? Fury's gonna love this." _

"_I don't give a damn about what Fury thinks," Phil said. He leaned in and kissed Clint, slow. Clint pushed his tongue into Phil's mouth and felt Phil smile through the kiss, and he ran his tongue around Phil's mouth, tasting as much of Phil as he could. _

_They explored each other thoroughly that night, and in the morning, after the shower they took together, Phil drove them back to headquarters and neither of them could wipe the smiles off their faces that day. _

_Clint carried the key to Phil's apartment on his key ring for two years until Loki showed up. It sat on Clint's dresser in Stark Tower now._

Two days after Natasha confronted him he was sparring with Steve, something that was a true act of self-flagellation, when Bruce came in and asked him to get cleaned up and come down to his lab.

"Why?" Clint asked, wiping his face with a towel.

Bruce shrugged. "Something Fury wanted me to do. I'll tell you about when you come down."

Clint got a serious sense of foreboding in his gut, but he trusted Bruce. Of anyone on the team he knew Bruce understood Clint's post-Loki issues. Not being in control of yourself was common ground for them. So he showered and made his way down to Bruce's lab.

He heard the door shut behind him and Bruce came around a corner with a nervous smile on his face.

"Hey, Clint, thanks. I really want to get this out of the way," Bruce said, gesturing for Clint to sit down on a stool near a clean table.

"Get what out of the way, Bruce?"

"Um, yeah." Bruce ran his hand over his face. "So a while back, Fury asked me to design a couple of tests and he wants me to run them on you. It took some time to get them right, but now I need to do this."

He handed over two forms on a clipboard, and when Clint took them with a leery glare at Bruce, he read them and sighed, signing his name immediately and throwing the clipboard back at Bruce, not caring about whether Bruce would catch it or not. He did.

"Sorry, Clint," he said, "I really just want to get it over with. I don't necessarily agree with it."

"Yeah," Clint said. "But you sorta do, and I don't blame you. Go on."

Bruce sighed and rolled a cart over to Clint. He put some electrodes on Clint's forehead and temples and then leaned over with a dropper full of liquid. He held it up. "I have to dilate your eyes for this one, okay?"

Clint just sucked a breath through his clenched teeth and nodded. Bruce pushed Clint's chin back, and dropped the liquid into Clint's eyes. They both ignored the way Clint had started to tremble. He felt his pupils dilate and tried desperately to distance himself from what Bruce was doing.

Twenty minutes later the tests were finished.

"Okay, thanks," Bruce said, quietly. "Don't drive for a while and I'd recommend staying away from bright lights."

When Clint left the lab he practically ran to the elevator, and he rode down to the basement again, climbed into the rafters, and wrapped his knees in his arms and rocked some more.

_Loki__'s spear touched his chest and it emptied him. Thoughts fled, loyalty disappeared, love evaporated, memory changed purpose. What was left of him shrunk into a corner of his mind, leaving only Loki's thoughts, commands, and anger, and that drove him for days. Jealous rage filled his chest, turning his eyes ice blue and forcing him to kill._

_He woke in a sterile room with Natasha standing over him and he was still empty, but without Loki's thoughts, commands, and anger. What was left of him was still cowering in the corners of his mind, and he followed Natasha and Steve because following was all he knew how to do at that point. _

_After the battle Natasha helped him back to his room at SHIELD and helped him clean up, forced him to lie down, and told him that Coulson was dead. He curled into a ball on his bed and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he trembled, finally slipping into the first real sleep he'd had since Loki compromised him. _

_When SHIELD put him on psychiatric leave the next day, he left headquarters and wandered the city, walking, climbing to the rooftops of buildings, exploring alleyways and dingy parts of town, looking at the people others called 'bad' and seeing better men than he was. All of them were dangerous people, but he was empty, and they were not._

_Natasha came looking for him two days later and dragged him to Stark Tower to clean him up again. She wouldn't let him leave this time, so he just sat in the chair in the common room and watched the others talk. She insisted that he come with her to SHIELD and so he did, keeping his eyes on the floor as they walked through the halls, avoiding the accusatory or searching looks the other agents were sure to give him. _

_He played along with the psychiatrists, giving them only what he had to – no, he didn't remember anything between when Loki took him and when Natasha hit him. Yes, he knew it wasn't his fault what had happened. No, he didn't blame himself for killing those agents. Yes, he missed Agent Coulson and wished it hadn't happened. Only one of those claims was true, but they didn't need to know that. Three days of psych evals and they told Fury he needed some time to process everything but he wasn't a threat. _

_Fury obviously didn't believe them, thank god. He kept Clint on suspension with pay and Clint wandered back to Stark Tower. Steve challenged him to spar, Tony handed him new arrow designs, and Bruce exchanged cooking tips with him in the kitchen. He filled some of the empty bits with the Avengers, and after about a month he got better at considering himself whole. _

_And then they found Coulson and he visited him once and then shattered into pieces again. _

Natasha filled him in about Phil when he came down from the rafters that night after Bruce's tests – five days after Phil's emergence from his coma – about Phil's progress and healing. The doctors were pleased, Phil was sitting up on his own, and he had even had Natasha sneak some paperwork in for him to work on. She thought he might start physical therapy in another couple of days.

Clint nodded politely, asked a few questions, and finished cooking his meal that he took back to his own quarters and ate alone. He sat and picked at his food for a while and then picked up the key to Phil's apartment, fingering it and then slipping it into his pants pocket.

He slipped out of the tower unnoticed, and then flagged down a cab, slouching into the back seat. He gave an address two blocks away from Phil's apartment and walked those blocks quickly after getting out of the cab and he let himself into the apartment and took a deep breath.

He paused in the entranceway for a few moments and then he made his way back to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, taking in the sky blue walls, the king bed with white headboard, and the white dresser and white bookshelves along the wall. The two nightstands on either side of the bed still had the books Clint and Phil had been working on the day everything went to hell. He thought for a moment about taking Phil's book and giving it to Natasha to pass along, but that thought made his heart clench, and so he dismissed it quickly. Instead he went to Phil's dresser and bent down to the bottom drawer. He opened it and saw a couple of hooded sweatshirts and a few t-shirts of his own and chose one of the sweatshirts. He needed something familiar.

He stood to go, but then closed his eyes for a moment and turned back to the dresser. He opened a middle drawer and ran his fingers along Phil's sweaters, finally finding the one he needed. It was his favorite of Phil's, a deep blue crew-neck, and he picked it up and gathered it into his arms and sat down on the bed, curling around the sweater, inhaling deeply, and then laying back. He fell into a restless sleep clutching the blue fabric.

He woke with a start a few hours later, and, before he broke down completely, he left the apartment, locking it behind him. He made his way back to Stark Tower and managed to avoid everyone before locking his own quarters' door behind him. He stripped out of his clothes and crawled into his own bed, still clutching the sweater.

Three days later Fury called him down to SHIELD. Natasha wasn't around, so he pulled on his black SHIELD jacket over his t-shirt and rode his motorcycle over to headquarters. He made it to Fury's office without seeing anyone and entered the office when Fury's secretary nodded at him. He stepped in and Fury waved him to sit down.

"Agent Barton," he said, simply.

Clint nodded. "Sir."

"Agent, Dr. Banner sent me the results of the tests he ran and I wanted to discuss them with you."

Clint nodded mutely. He supposed one reason he hadn't run into anyone he knew on the way in was because they were waiting to kill him on Fury's word.

"The results were negative, Agent. He could find no evidence that Loki or any outside party was at all affecting you now."

"I didn't think they were, Sir, but I understand the need to check," Clint said.

"Yes, well, I have to say I'm glad you came back clean, and I trust Banner's tests. I'm ready to reinstate you with your previous Senior Agent status, Barton."

Clint was surprised for some reason. He really hadn't thought about working again, and the idea that he could get thrown back in the field tomorrow shocked him just a little. "Thank you, Sir," was all he could say.

Fury stared at him for over a minute. Clint had been victim of his stares before, and stood up well to them, but he was glad when Fury finally cleared his throat and spoke again. "Agent Barton, you are aware that Agent Coulson is undergoing physical therapy at Stark Tower right now?"

Clint swallowed and felt his face flush. He hadn't expected this conversation. "Yes, Sir."

Fury stared some more. "He's progressing well. We moved him to the Tower on Stark's insistence and it's turned out to be a good idea. He's got good staff there and it's more comfortable. They let him get in a wheelchair yesterday and Stark insisted on taking him on a full tour of the Tower. He did well."

Clint didn't know what to say. He'd spent the whole day on the archery row working with some new tech Tony had given him. "Good, Sir. I'm glad to hear it."

Fury raised his eyebrow. "Right. Well, Barton, you should get back there. I have some files for you to take since you're here, okay? Give them to Captain Rogers. You all are heading out in a couple of days for a mission and you need to start planning." He paused. "You're part of the Avengers Initiative, Barton. We'll only use you here at SHIELD if necessary, understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Clint said. He reached out and took the files. "Thank you again."

Fury nodded and Clint headed for the door. As he turned the handle to leave, Fury stood and stopped him. 'Barton," he said.

Clint turned. "Sir?"

He watched as Fury just stared for a moment, obviously unsure of whether he should speak his mind – something that absolutely astounded Clint.

"Glad to have you back, Agent."

Clint just nodded and left quietly.

He went back to Stark Tower and found Steve, handing him the folders and explaining what Fury said. Steve told him to give him an hour and then gather the others. Clint took the hour and made his way to the rafters again.

_It was a month after the Loki situation when Tony barreled into the common room and shouted, "Coulson's alive, goddammit!" _

_Clint dropped the cup of coffee he was drinking and it crashed to the floor. Steve stood quickly and Natasha and Bruce both followed. _

"_Fury's been hiding him at SHIELD headquarters, but JARVIS has been hacking their systems for a while now and he found him," Tony said, quickly._

"_Why the hell would Fury 'hide' him, Tony?" Natasha asked._

_Tony paused and looked directly at Clint. The team had figured out the relationship between Phil and Clint when Clint crashed at the news of Phil's death. "They weren't sure he was going to make it. Fury's orders that JARVIS found have telling us as a step only to be taken upon the affirmation of Coulson's recovery." _

_Clint spoke softly. "Is he going to?" _

"_What?" Tony asked._

"_Recover. JARVIS hacked the system. They haven't told us about him yet. Will he recover?"_

_Tony nodded. "Looks like they just adjusted his status today. They're probably going to tell us soon anyway." _

_Clint stood and ignored the others. He headed out the door, heading for SHIELD medical and hearing Natasha follow him. _

Clint climbed down from the rafters and gathered the Avengers team as Steve had asked him to do. Steve shared the mission objectives, explaining that a HYDRA base had been found out west. They were being ordered to shut it down. Steve handed out a folder to everyone and told them to memorize their own mission objectives and to report back the next morning for coordination. They'd be departing the following day.

Planning went well the next day, and Clint found himself excited at the prospect of a trip and mission. It was the perfect distraction.

Late in the afternoon after the strategy session had closed, Tony asked Clint to come down to his lab. He wanted to make sure they were in agreement about which of the new arrows Clint would use on the mission. Clint grabbed a little lunch and headed down.

They were putting the finishing touches on the list of arrows Clint would need when Tony said, casually, "So, are you going to see Coulson before we go?"

Clint looked up and glared. "What the hell, Tony?" and then, after a pause, "No."

Tony sighed. "Dammit, Barton. He's probably going to get cleared for light desk duty by the time we get back. They're letting him go home tomorrow. It's been two weeks since he woke up."

"Get to the point or shut the hell up, Tony," Clint said.

"The point is you guys were together two years before all of this shit happened and you've seen him for five minutes once since he woke up."

"Did he ask you to talk to me?" Clint said.

"Holy hell, Clint. _No_. But he has asked how you're doing, and you know none of us are pulling any punches with him," Tony said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I told him you're being an idiot, Steve told him you're just going through the motions, Bruce told him you're hiding in the rafters more often than not, and Romanov told him you're sneaking back and forth between here and his apartment. I think he's got a pretty good idea of how you're doing."

Clint stood up and smiled at Tony. "And has he asked to see me? Has he begged you guys to drag me down there to comfort him?"

Tony cocked his head at Clint and said, "No."

Clint nodded. "You wanna know why he hasn't?"

Tony sighed. "Do you know?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Do you know what happened when I did go to see him the first day, Tony?"

Tony shook his head. "No."

Clint walked over to stand closer to Tony. "He flinched."

Tony closed his eyes.

"You know why he flinched, Tony?" Clint said, taking another step closer.

Tony shook his head.

"Because he's smart." Clint sucked a breath in through clenched teeth. "And I'm not going to go see him if I scare him. When he figures out that I'm not going to hurt him and decides to ask to see me, I'll go. Not before."

Tony ran a hand across his face. "Barton," he said, quietly, and gestured toward the door to the lab.

Clint turned to see Natasha there, pushing Coulson in his wheelchair. He was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans and he was thinner than he should be, and his eyes looked tired. When he saw Clint turn, his eyes went to Clint's hands, which were holding the bow he'd been cleaning while he talked to Tony. Clint just stared at him for a moment, and when Phil didn't say anything, Clint stormed past them all, blindly making his way back to his own room and slamming the door behind him.

Natasha knocked about an hour later, calling to Clint, but when he ignored her she went away, leaving him alone.

The mission began the next day. It was difficult. HYDRA always made things difficult, and at the end of the fight Clint found himself being dragged back to the Quinjet by Tony, hardly aware of what was going on.

He'd taken a bullet to the shoulder and had fallen ten feet to the ground on the impact.

"Goddammit, Barton!" he heard, as he lay on the floor of the jet and pain coursed through his shoulder and his vision kept greying out. He tried to keep his eyes focused, but they refused, the white hot searing pain shoving everything else to the background. He heard the others, though.

"He fell off the fucking building," Tony said.

"It wasn't that tall, Tony," Natasha said. Clint felt her hands running through his hair and stopping on the back of his head where he'd hit the ground. He hissed in pain. "Shit," she said as her hands came away from his head bloody, "He's got a head wound."

Nausea rose in Clint's throat at her touch and he groaned, trying to turn to his side. He couldn't stop himself from vomiting, though, and he felt her pull him away from it and into her lap. "Tony, get us the hell out of here and back to base," she said, and after some shouting that Steve and Bruce were back on board, he felt the engines of the plane roar to life. When the jet ascended, though, the motion made him sick again.

As the plane carried them back to headquarters, he felt Steve's strong hands pushing down on his shoulder wound, sending daggers through his body. He took sharp breaths through clenched teeth and tried his hardest to stay awake. Finally, though, he resigned to passing out in Natasha's lap as she gently rubbed the side of his face.

It was quiet when he woke. He could hear the monitors beeping, he could feel the tight bandage around his shoulder and the IV in his hand, and he could feel the bandage on his head. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in SHIELD medical, and it looked like they gave him a private room. He glanced toward the door and drew a sharp breath.

Phil was sitting next to Clint's bed dozing in his wheelchair and wearing the blue sweater Clint had taken from the apartment. Clint watched him sleep for a few minutes, taking in his thinner face and the sling around his shoulder, and then Phil woke, opening his eyes and catching Clint's stare.

Neither spoke, but Phil sat up a bit and reached for Clint's hand. Clint just stared; his thoughts felt sluggish, like he couldn't reconcile the past few weeks and Phil sitting here at his bedside.

Phil smiled at Clint and just said, "Hey, I'm glad you're awake," moving to just cover Clint's hand with his own.

Clint looked down at their hands and then laced his fingers through Phil's and just nodded, causing shooting pain to go through his head. He winced and Phil chuckled.

"Be careful. You've got a nasty concussion on top of that bullet wound. You've been out for a while." He paused and added quietly , "You scared us."

"I scared you?" Clint said. His voice was shaky.

Phil winced this time. "Not like that, Clint."

They both just stared at each other for a minute.

Phil squeezed Clint's hand. "I'm not afraid of you. Not anymore."

Clint sighed. "It's okay that you were. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, and I'm not afraid of you now."

"Okay," Clint said.

Phil pulled Clint's hand to his lips and kissed it. "Sleep. They want you to rest."

"I want to stay awake with you," Clint said, his voice sounding a little bit desperate in his own ears.

Phil chuckled. "I won't be awake much longer. It seems all I do is sleep."

Clint swallowed and locked eyes with Phil. "I'm glad you're awake now."

Phil nodded and he leaned back in his chair, and soon they both drifted off to sleep.


	2. What Loki Took

**A/N: So I hadn't really intended for this to be a multi-chapter work, but some folks asked about Phil's POV. Look what they started. . . Thanks to dysprositos for beta work and strong-arming me, ahem, encouraging me to post this next part.** **This is truly a Work In Progress, so suggestions, constructive criticism, etc. are welcome and encouraged. **

* * *

Phil sat with Clint and slept in the wheelchair, and when he woke Clint was still sleeping. The SHIELD medical staff checked in on both of them, knowing Phil still had to be careful with his chest wound. While Phil watched Clint sleep he saw the evidence that the last two months had not been kind to his partner. Phil could tell that he was thinner, his cheeks were hollow, and the lines around his eyes were etched deeper than before. The concussion and gunshot wound from the attack on the HYDRA base didn't help, but Phil knew the gaunt, worn out look of the archer was caused by more than yesterday's events.

Phil leaned over and picked up Clint's limp hand, running his palm across the heavily calloused shooting hand, seeing newly healed skin stretched across his fingers, evidence of too many hours on the shooting range. He ran his fingers up Clint's arm, seeing healing cuts from the bowstring, evidence of a mind unfocused, making mistakes his partner never made. It was as if this was an archer lying here, but not Phil's archer, not really Clint.

He shuddered involuntarily as he thought of Clint not being Clint. The unwelcome image of ice-blue eyes staring out from his lover's face, cold and calculating and filled with vengeance, invaded Phil's mind. He closed his eyes against that memory of fear; he drew a sharp breath like he did when he saw Clint draw his bow against the SHIELD agents, as he watched him shoot Nick Fury, and suddenly he had trouble catching his breath back.

Sitting next to Clint, who had been shot by a HYDRA agent hours earlier, Phil couldn't breathe. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to draw a shuddering breath but he failed, and suddenly a nurse was there, pulling his wheelchair out of the room, calling another to come help calm him down, and after a few moments they had him breathing normally again. Just as he opened his eyes and took a deep breath to thank the nurses, Natasha came around the corner.

"Phil!" she said, seeing the nurse hovering, seeing him drawing a shaky breath. "What happened? Is Clint … oh shit, is he okay?"

Phil watched as Natasha rushed into Clint's room, followed by a nurse who was saying, "Agent Barton is resting comfortably, ma'am. Agent Coulson was having trouble breathing."

Natasha whirled and came back to Phil, kneeling down in front of his chair. "Are you okay?" she asked with concern filling her eyes.

Phil held her gaze for a moment and then looked down. "Yes, now I am." He didn't know what else to say. "Can you take me back to my office? I'd like to rest a little on the couch, I think. It's just. . ." he trailed off. She looked at him with an odd look on her face and then she glanced back at Clint's room and nodded.

She wheeled him through the hallways of SHIELD and Phil said hello to a few people on the way to his office. When they got there she helped him lay down on the leather couch and pulled a blanket down over him.

"Do you want to talk about what happened down there?" she asked.

He looked at her and then looked away.

"I don't know. I was watching him sleep and – he looks so different. He's thinner."

"He's hurt, Phil," she said.

"I know."

They sat quietly for a moment and then Natasha said, "I thought you talked to him earlier. Did that go all right?"

He nodded. "Yes, and it was so good to hear his voice, to hold his hand."

"But—, " Natasha said.

"But I'm not saying any of this makes any sense, Natasha. I'm not. I was watching him sleep and seeing the changes – god, he looks awful – and I just kept seeing him with Loki. I saw him with Loki and Loki scares the hell out of me, okay?" He shut his eyes and put his hand over them.

She pulled his hand down and gripped it. "I know," she said, "It's okay."

"Don't tell him," Phil said, quietly, and then opened his eyes to look at her.

She was staring at him with her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed. "I won't hide things from him. You know better than to ask that."

He sighed, an unwelcome weight settling into his chest. "I know. It's just—I don't feel the same, and he doesn't look the same, and it scares me." His voice had dropped to a whisper and he felt tears spring to his eyes.

She stood and leaned over him. "Rest, okay? I'm going to go sit with him for a while and then I'll come back and take you back to the Tower for the night. Maybe you can see him after you rest or in the morning. He's not going to be up for much anyway."

He nodded, and as she closed his office door behind her he let the tears fall as he mourned again what Loki had taken from him.

A couple hours later she came back to his office and helped him sit up.

"How is he?" Phil asked as she went to his bathroom to get a glass of water and handed it to him.

"Wiped out," she said. "He—" and she stopped.

"What, Natasha?" Phil said.

"He was in a lot of pain from the bullet wound, Phil. He was disoriented and kept messing up his words."

"He was fine when I talked to him," Phil said, confused and concerned.

"Yeah, the doctor came in said the delay happens sometimes and the aphasia might have been a combination of the concussion and the pain he was in. They'll keep an eye on it, but he was in bad shape. They gave him a sedative to calm him down and he was out again pretty quick."

"Did he ask for me?" Phil said.

"Yes."

Phil stood carefully and sat back down in the wheelchair. He'd be glad when he could walk more than three feet again, but for now it was impossible. "I need to get some real sleep," he said, simply.

He didn't know what to do. The fear was back and Clint was hurt and asking for him. He had told Clint a few hours ago that he wasn't afraid of him anymore and now he just saw the ice-blue eyes each time he closed his own. He was going to chalk it up to exhaustion and try again after he could sleep on a mattress for a while.

Natasha took him up to his room in the tower and gave him his medication and orders to call her as soon as he woke up. She was going back to be with Clint. He fell into sleep and woke six hours later feeling much better. He called Natasha.

"I'd like to try to see him again," Phil said.

"No," she said.

"What? Why?" Phil said, surprised.

"He woke up earlier and was more coherent, but he pressed me on why you were gone. I told him it was because of your injury but he didn't buy it. So I told him you had a panic attack and were trying to sleep it off and he told me to make sure you stayed at the tower. He doesn't want you to come back right now."

"He's angry," Phil said.

"He's confused and concussed," she replied. "Both of you need to get some rest. That much is obvious. The doctors were running him through some tests when I left and he's still having trouble with his speech. They're trying to get a handle on the concussion effects."

"I just slept for six hours; I'm feeling better and I should go see him," Phil said.

"And the fact that you just said you 'should' go see him is why I'm not coming to get you," she said.

"Damn it, Natasha," he said.

"Phil. I'm trying to look out for both of you. He does not need you going in there and having a panic attack in front of him. He doesn't need you to go in there and apologize and make him feel good and then freak out the next time he does something that reminds you of when he was with Loki. He's hurt. He's been hurt for two months and now he has a bullet wound and concussion on top of that. He's not recovered one bit from what Loki did to him and I'm not going to let you hurt him some more even with good intentions. So you'll stay away until he's physically in better shape or when he asks for you again, and then the two of you can work this out the way you both need." She hung up on him and he sat staring at the phone.

"Fuck," he said.

He managed to get from his bedroom out to the kitchenette without too much trouble. He made some toast and poured himself some grapefruit juice and then sat down heavily at his table. As he sat there eating there was a knock at the med room door. Thank god Tony had installed a remote opener for the lock.

Bruce poked his head around the door and said, "Hey, can I come in?"

"Sure," Phil said, actually glad that it was Bruce. Tony took too much effort.

Bruce came in and stood awkwardly in the entrance for a moment.

"Help yourself to some juice if you want to stay for a bit," Phil said.

Bruce nodded and said, "Thanks," and took a moment to find a glass and pour some juice before sitting down across from Phil.

"Are you feeling okay?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah. Did Natasha ask you to come by?" Phil said.

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, she said she'd be hung up at medical for a while with Clint."

Phil nodded and sipped his juice.

"I saw you at SHIELD yesterday after we came in. Did you see Clint yet?" Bruce asked.

Phil sighed. "Yes. I just wore myself out a bit too much, so I came back here to rest."

"Do you want me to take you back over to SHIELD this morning?"

Phil didn't answer right away. He could go back over under the pretense of picking up some paperwork, but if Hill or Natasha caught him they'd both probably ream him. He had some work here he could do and he only made it an hour or so at a time right now anyway.

"Are you all right, Phil?" Bruce asked, gently. Phil had taken too long to answer.

"I had a panic attack in Clint's room last night," he said, looking up at Bruce.

Bruce gave him a knowing look and nodded. "Oh," he said.

"Natasha doesn't think it's good for either of us for me to be around him today. His concussion's doing some weird things, apparently, and she's worried about me messing him up," Phil said.

Bruce frowned. "Can I ask why you panicked?"

Phil twined his hands together. "I just – he – damn it. Look, I kept watching him sleep and noticing changes in how he looks. It reminded me of how Loki changed him and that made me panic." After a pause he added, sarcastically, "Loki did a weird magic thing and stabbed me through the chest, you know."

Bruce smiled. "I know." He took another drink of juice and leaned back in his chair. "I remember seeing the looks on people's faces after the Other Guy first showed up. None of us knew when he'd come out. No one knew whether I was still the same person. Hell, I didn't even know if I was the same person. I have an idea about how both of you feel."

"I'm not arguing that my position is rational," Phil said, looking down at the table.

"No, but I don't think anyone would be angry at you if you had a hard time being around him right away. Lots of people are still wary of him," Bruce said. "No one understands what Loki did or really how Natasha knocked it out of Clint. It's a huge unknown."

"You ran tests," Phil said, looking up at Bruce.

"Yes, and they show that unless I'm missing something very, very subtle, Clint is himself. But what Loki did to him is still an unknown. We can't test what he did; we can only test who Clint is now. I can't force people to buy it, but he's himself."

Phil couldn't help the noise that escaped his throat at that. "Have you seen him?"

Bruce nodded gravely. "He's not okay, but he is himself. There's a difference."

Phil stared at Bruce for a moment and then stood. "Thanks for coming by, Bruce. I appreciate this, a lot. I need to go get cleaned up for the day, though."

Bruce nodded and stood, heading for the door. As he left, he turned around. "I understand what you're going through, but I've been where he is. You guys at SHIELD are giving me a chance to be Dr. Banner, and I'm grateful. He needs people to give him a chance to be himself again. Keep that in mind."

Phil nodded, and Bruce left. Phil went through his routine of getting cleaned up for the day. He still couldn't shower properly, but he'd managed a system over the last few weeks and when he was finished he called the nurse on staff at the tower to come help him change the bandage out. When that was done he sat on the couch and tried to do some paperwork.

His phone rang about an hour later. It was Natasha. "Phil, can you come down here? Can Bruce or someone there bring you in?"

"What's wrong, Natasha?" Phil said.

"He's really upset and can't get a sentence together, Phil. The doctor said the tests came back negative, and that this shouldn't be happening according to his scans. They looked for swelling and didn't find any. They looked for evidence of bleeding but didn't find any. She thinks it might be psychological instead of physical and I can't get him calmed down. They just sedated him again."

Phil told her he'd be over and called Bruce. They went back to SHIELD medical and headed down to Clint's room. Natasha looked shaken as she met them outside the door.

"They've called Psych and they're going to send someone down the next time he comes around," she said.

"Emotional agitation is normal with a severe concussion," Bruce said, leaning against the door frame.

"Yeah, the doctor reminded me of that, too," Natasha said. "But the vocabulary loss is weird and he's just . . . really volatile."

Phil stood from the wheelchair and entered the room. He wanted to sit in a regular chair and keep the reminders of Loki's attack at a minimum for Clint. He sat down in the chair next to the bed and waited.

"_I love you, Phil, how weird is that?" Clint said with a grin as he stood cooking dinner in Phil's apartment. Phil felt joy slide over him like a wave as he watched Clint cook._

"_You picked a weird time to say it, that's for sure," Phil said, sidling up next to him and wrapping his arm around Clint's shoulder. He leaned over him and kissed his cheek. "I love you, too, though. Lucky for us." _

"_Yeah, I – you know this is a big deal, right?" Clint said._

"_It is." _

"_Yeah, I just…" Clint trailed off and then reached over the stove and turned off the burner. He leaned into Phil's arms and pressed his forehead to Phil's. "I don't want to lose any of this," he said, waving a hand around, gesturing to the room. _

"_You love me for my apartment?" Phil said, teasing._

_Clint laughed. "I love you in this environment. I don't want to lose it." He paused and added, "You know, screwing in the showers at SHIELD is fun and all, but I like you here better." _

"_It is fun, isn't it?"Phil asked, leaning over and drawing Clint into a kiss. "You're making me want to trash dinner and just go back to headquarters for a quickie." _

_Clint groaned. "Forget it. I'm trying to say something important—"_

_Phil pulled back and grinned at Clint. "Stop. I know. It is important and I love that you feel that way. I love how lucky I feel that I get you here and in the showers at SHIELD. You're mine here. No one else gets you this way and I love that." He kissed Clint again and this time Clint leaned into the kiss and gripped Phil's waist, pulling him in close to his chest. _

_They didn't eat the dinner Clint had cooked._

Phil looked back down at Clint, lying in the medical bed, and sometime later Clint opened his eyes, looking sleepy and lost.

"Hey," Phil said, picking up Clint's hand gently. Clint looked at it and then back at Phil.

"You came back," Clint said, his voice sluggish and words slightly slurred.

"Yeah. I can stay if you want."

"Dunno what I want, Phil," Clint said.

"I know," Phil said. "The doctors want to talk to you some more. They want Pscyh to check you out."

Clint shook his head, "No. I can't deal with being ev-" he struggled with the word and Phil filled in for him, "evaluated," and Clint nodded. "I'll be okay with some sleep. Headache's not as in -in- intense." He gripped Phil's hand tightly. "Thanks for coming back," Clint said, locking eyes with Phil.

"I'll be here if you want me here," Phil said.

"Until you're not," Clint said, suddenly sharp.

Phil just nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess. Goddammit, Phil."

"I'm not going to do promises right now, Clint. I want to help you, though. I know that."

"You think I'm still com-com. . . shit," Clint said, loudly.

"Shhh. I understand," Phil said, putting his hand on Clint's arm. "No, I don't think you're still compromised. I just can't stop myself from reacting irrationally sometimes. I'll try not to, but I can't promise I won't mess up."

"You messed up be-before," Clint said, his voice dropping.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." Phil tried not to sound desperate. He watched as Clint struggled to form his next words and he saw the insecure kid he met over ten years ago coming back to the surface. He wanted to stay for him, he wanted to help him and love him and get things back to the amazing place they were in before Loki showed up.

But as he watched Clint try and form his words and saw again the changes in the man in front of him, he knew nothing was going to be easy for a while.

Nothing was the same.


	3. Patterns

**A/N: Thanks again to dysprositos for beta artwork.  
**

**Chapter Three: Patterns  
**

"Nat, I feel okay other than a headache. When can I get out of here?" Clint said, sitting forward in his bed. He'd really had enough of medical. His shoulder ached and he would need a few sessions with the therapist when he got the okay, and his head did hurt, but none of it was stay-in-medical-worthy as far as he could tell.

"They want to keep you the rest of today for observation, Clint. Your concussion is acting weird," Natasha said. She sat in a chair nearby with one of Tony's tablet computers in her hands.

"Weird h-h-how?" Clint asked. He felt like he should know why they were concerned, but it wasn't coming to him. He just wanted out.

Natasha sighed like he was being an idiot. "You're missing words, stuttering, and mixing words up. You shouldn't be doing that according to their tests, so they want to keep an eye on you a bit longer to see if it works itself out."

"Does it have to do with my hearing aids? I think they're m-m-messed up."

She shook her head. "No, but are they bothering you?"

He felt the small patches behind each ear – they were Tony's upgrade on what R&D had given him years ago and they didn't come off easily and were completely unnoticeable – flesh colored patches. "I don't know." He saw her look at him funny and realized he was tired. He could tell he was concussed because his thoughts were disjointed, but they usually let him go home and rest it out. Phil usually worked it out…shit. Phil. A wave of exhaustion rolled across him at the thought of his lover. He looked at Natasha, who looked similarly exhausted and worried.

"Where's Phil?" he asked. "He was here earlier. We -" he lost the thought and leaned back, frustrated.

"You talked, I know, and that's good. He's upstairs in his office resting. He tires easily right now, Clint, you know that."

"Yeah, and he can't decide if he wants to b-b-be around me."

She nodded and stayed quiet.

"I don't. . . . " He clenched his eyes shut for a moment, reaching desperately for the words he needed and coming up blank. "I don't—I guess I get it." He was messed up, he could feel it.

"I get it, too," Natasha said, leaning forward, "But you don't need this up-and-down."

His thoughts suddenly ran dark. "You're telling him to stay away?" He said, suddenly furious at her. "That's my d-d-decision, not – Not" He couldn't get the words out and he realized he was shouting. He leaned back and threw his good arm across his face. "Damn it."

"Clint," Natasha replied, gently. "I didn't tell him to stay away. I told him not to mess with you and to be careful. Neither one of you needs a rollercoaster right now."

He felt her hand on his arm. Nothing made sense. Phil apologized and then left. He said he wasn't afraid and then that he had a panic attack. He told him he'd stay and help but wouldn't promise not to get scared again. Nothing Phil was saying made sense right now to Clint. He didn't want Phil's doubt, but he wanted him around. Nat had clearly been watching out for him the whole time and he was yelling at her.

"I'm sorry, Nat," he said, finally.

She nodded. "I know. It'll be okay."

"You look like h-h-h-…" He sighed. "When did you last sleep?" he managed.

She smiled. "A while ago. This speech thing of yours is messing with me a little."

"Me, too," he said with a smile.

At that moment, Bruce poked his head around the door frame. "Can I come in?"

They nodded. Clint was glad to see him. Bruce was safe.

"Natasha, I thought you might want to go sleep for a while. I'll keep an eye on him."

Clint waved toward the door. "I'm a big kid. You can both go. You've got b-b-b…" he groaned. "I hate that."

Bruce nodded. "That's why I want to be here a bit, Clint. That shouldn't be happening according to your charts and the tests."

Natasha stood. "Okay. I'll be back after while." She gave Clint's hand a squeeze and left.

Clint leaned back against the pillows and said, "Any ideas, Doc?"

Bruce shrugged and looked through Clint's chart some more. Clint had a drink of water and closed his eyes. His shoulder was starting to hurt worse right now and this whole thing was messing him up. He sat forward again and tried to talk to Bruce about it. "Bruce," he said, and Bruce looked up from his chart. "My – my –my" he stopped. Took a deep breath and tried again. "I don't – I don't" but this time his brain completely shorted out on him and he couldn't figure it out. "I can't d-d-d-" He grimaced and clenched his teeth together, and looked imploringly at Bruce.

Bruce moved to his side and grasped his arm, gently. "Stop, Clint. Just take a break, okay? It'll come."

Clint nodded and took a couple of deep breaths. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and Bruce looked at him questioningly. Clint nodded toward the door. "Can I at least take a w-w-" he gave a strangled laugh. "I should have learned sign language like they told me to," he said, and he marveled at how that sentence just slipped right out.

Bruce smiled. "You want to walk around? It's probably a good idea."

"I've still got a b-b-b-bunk here at Headquarters. Clothes?" He asked, deciding to keep it simple.

Bruce nodded. "Not sure why not. It'll be good for you to get out a bit. We'll come back and I'll talk to your doctor a little later."

Bruce kept a hand on Clint's elbow as they walked past the nurses' desk and he explained that he'd have Clint back in an hour or so.

It did feel good to get out of the medical wing. Clint took it slow, but they finally made it to his quarters and Bruce helped him dig out some jeans and a t-shirt. He even let Clint run a shallow bath and helped him clean up a little. Clint was running a comb through his hair afterward and he looked at Bruce. "Thanks. This is good." He felt clean, and his place, even though he hardly spent time there before everything went down, felt like him and that felt good.

Bruce nodded. "You want to go down to the mess and get something a little better than medical food?"

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? That's okay? Definitely. Can I have some coffee?"

Bruce looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Sure. Come on."

They made their way to the mess hall, and while Clint felt some stares on his back he ignored them and asked Bruce to help him get some coffee and some breakfast food. They ate in companionable silence for a while and then Clint looked up and saw Steve.

"You're up!" Steve said with an easy smile, and he came over to their table with his tray. "How are you feeling?"

Clint took a sip of his coffee and waved his hand toward the door. "Medical wants to keep me in 'cause my brain and mouth seem to be disconnected right now. I'm feeling okay otherwise, though."

Bruce looked at him and grinned. "Didn't have trouble with that mouthful, though."

Clint looked up sharply and nodded. "Weird."

They sat and talked a little longer before Clint started to flag. Clint stuttered a few times, but he didn't lose words the way he was before. He had to stifle a yawn, though, and Steve noticed.

"You should go rest, Clint. You look wiped out. It's good to see you up, though." Steve stood and departed with a wave.

Bruce looked at Clint. "I'm going to see if you can sleep in your own room tonight, okay?" Clint nodded.

"I should g-g-go back down to medical first, though, right?"

"Yeah. Your doctor's going to want to see you first."

They stood to head back down and saw Phil coming down the hall, walking on his own with Tony at his side. Bruce put a hand on Clint's arm.

"Hey Hawkeye!" Tony called, grinning when he saw them. "You look better than the last time I saw you. They let you out of medical yet?"

Clint tried to smile, he really did, but it felt hollow and he was sure it probably looked that way, too. "No," he said, looking at Phil, "They w-w-ant to fi-fi-. . . " He lost his energy suddenly and just swore.

Tony nodded and his eyes darkened. Phil looked at him with guilt and concern mixed together.

Tony looked at Bruce. "You have any ideas about it?" he said, gesturing to Clint.

Bruce nodded, "One or two, but nothing workable yet. He's going to stay at his old bunk tonight; I want to see if some good rest, not hospital rest, will help. He just did real well talking to Steve in the mess hall."

"Well, I'm taking my gimpy friend for a walk with no wheelchair. PT guys want him on his own by the end of the week," Tony said with a grin.

"We're a sight, huh?" Phil said, wearily looking at Clint, who only nodded. He was just drinking in the sight of Phil up and around out of a wheelchair.

Bruce said, "We need to get him some painkillers for his arm and get the discharge stuff done before he passes out, okay?"

Tony said, "Barton – if medical gives it the okay, you should come back to the tower instead of your bunk here. We have better food. I'm taking Agent Agent back over there later."

Clint just nodded. "We'll see what m-m-medical -." He just shook his head after the word left again. He just wanted to get out of here and get something for the headache that had suddenly gotten a lot worse.

Phil narrowed his eyes and looked at Clint and then said to Bruce, "He looks like he needs to lie down."

"Come on, Clint," Bruce said. "You guys could come keep us company if you wanted," he added, and Tony looked at Phil, who nodded.

"We'll catch up," Tony said. "Gimpy here has to stop a bit."

Clint was suddenly overcome with a pounding headache and didn't even care that Bruce had invited Tony and Phil down to medical to keep him company. He wasn't going to be very good company, he could tell. Besides, the sight of Phil up and walking on his own made him happy. If he wasn't feeling like such shit he'd make Tony take both of them on a walk. As it was, he just turned with Bruce and headed back to the elevator that would take them to medical.

"What's the pain level, Clint?" Bruce said as they stepped into the elevator.

Clint thought for hardly a second, taking in the pain in his shoulder and the hammer in his head, and said, "S-s-" He sighed and held up seven fingers. "C-c-came on q-q-. . .fast," he added.

Bruce nodded and they rode down to medical; by the time they got back to Clint's room he was leaning heavily on Bruce's arm and Bruce helped him lie down. He felt like he'd been hit by a car; his head was pounding and his shoulder was aching, and he also felt wiped out completely.

The doctor came in just as Bruce stood up from helping Clint. "Looks like the trip upstairs wore you out, Agent," she said, frowning slightly. "What's the pain level of your head right now?"

He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. It was worse. "Ei-Eight," he said, wondering if nine would have been more accurate.

Bruce added, "He said it came on fast. Also, he had a pretty good conversation with Captain Rogers in the mess hall, just a little stuttering, but on the way back here the word loss and stuttering increased along with the headache."

The doctor shone her pen light in his eyes and had him track her finger, and then took his blood pressure and pulse. "He's elevated right now, but he just had a walk and the pain is worse. He's tracking a little off, but he's exhausted, and his pupils are reacting normally."

Clint listened, but kept his eyes closed and tried to relax. The headache was awful, but he'd learned some breathing techniques over the years and he tried to use them now while Bruce and the doctor spoke.

"As in without a concussion?" Bruce asked. The doctor nodded. As they spoke, Phil and Tony made it to the room. Tony guided Phil to a chair and Clint looked up at Phil as he sat down and pulled his chair closer to the bed.

Phil leaned over to him. "Hey, unclench your hand and use mine, okay? Help you relax."

Clint hadn't realized he'd been clenching the sheet. He took Phil's hand and tried not to grip it too tight, but he did feel good holding it and he tried to concentrate on that. The doctor had other ideas.

"Clint," she said, leaning over the bed, "Before we hit you up with some painkillers I want to ask you a few questions, okay?"

Clint nodded and said, "T-testing if my - if it's w-w-worse when I'm s-s-s…" and the word still wouldn't come, so he tried to smile through the pain and she nodded.

She asked him only a few questions, about SHIELD, about bows and arrows, about his apartment, basic stuff. He messed most of the answers up, and in the end he was practically growling at her as he tried to form words. It was Phil who stepped in.

"Stop, Clint." He looked over at the doctor. "Enough?" He asked the doctor.

She nodded. "Enough. Clint, give me fifteen more minutes with you and then I'll let you go. I want to run one quick scan while you're having trouble, okay? I know it's annoying, but this will help."

Clint almost said no. He felt like throwing a tantrum, really, and if he hadn't felt Phil's hand on his arm and looked over at Bruce standing in the doorway, he probably would have. But he knew they were right, and he could stomach the headache a few more minutes.

So he shut his eyes and took deep breaths while they put electrodes on his head and brought in a scanner. He only half-listened to Bruce and the doctor talking as they ran the test. He was so tired, and his head was hurting worse than it had yet. He focused on his breathing and not crushing Phil's hand, and he could feel Phil move and sit down on the edge of the bed. He opened his eyes to look at him and saw the worry in Phil's face.

"Just got kn-kn-knocked around too m-much by H-h … bad guys," Clint said through clenched teeth.

Phil nodded. "They tend to do that to you a lot."

"It's my face," Clint said, and Phil laughed and stole a glance at Bruce, who was watching the interchange.

Finally, the test was finished. The doctor pulled the electrodes off of Clint and Bruce helped him wash the sticky stuff off with a washcloth.

"Pain level?" Bruce asked as he wiped off Clint's temple.

"Hurts like hell?" Clint said, sucking in a breath as Bruce tilted his head to get a better angle to wipe off his face. Bruce just glared at him and Clint sighed. "Eight and a half."

At that moment a nurse came in with a syringe. "The doctor said he might need something for the pain?"

Bruce, Phil, and Tony all chimed in together, "Yes."

The nurse laughed and held up the syringe. "This works quickly. Dr. Banner had put in a request for Agent Barton to sleep in his own room tonight. Dr. Banner, you may want to take him upstairs before you give him this."

Bruce nodded and moved to the bed, gesturing Tony to help. "Come on, Clint. Let's get you upstairs. Phil, you okay to come?"

Phil nodded and the four of them shuffled slowly up to Clint's room. By the time they got there, Clint felt sick and he couldn't even manage the energy to talk. He listened as Phil and Bruce talked around him as he sat on the edge of his bed.

"Here," Phil said after rummaging through Clint's dresser. "Shorts."

Clint managed to get his jeans undone and resigned himself to Bruce's help in pulling them off and sliding on a pair of shorts. Bruce leaned over with the syringe after and said, "Just rest." He gave him the shot and Clint felt the medicine wash through his system.

Phil was standing behind Bruce, and Clint looked up at him. "Can you stay?" he knew he sounded desperate, but he needed Phil. He needed something normal, something safe. He saw the worry in Phil's eyes and wanted him near.

Tony stepped forward. "No sleepover tonight, Agents. I promised Natasha I'd have him back in his own bed tonight. You're in no shape to fend her off of me, so he doesn't get to stay."

Phil leaned over Clint and ran his hand through Clint's hair. It felt so damned good. "I'll come back, okay? Soon. I'll sleep for a while and then I'll try and be here when you wake."

Bruce put his hand on Phil's shoulder and said, "I'll stay with you for now, Clint. Just get some good sleep."

Clint wanted to laugh. 'Good' sleep didn't exist for him anymore. He had gotten the idea over the last two months that the only good sleep he could manage was when someone knocked him out. Not the safest theory in the world, but it seemed to be working at the moment. "Phil," he said, feeling sluggish already.

Bruce and Tony stepped out of the room and Phil sat down next to Clint.

"Stay?" Clint said, with a whisper of doubt that maybe they'd already discussed this. Phil's smile confirmed it.

"Natasha will hurt Tony if I don't go back to the Tower," he said, gently.

"Come b-b-back?" Clint said, trying to keep his eyes open but feeling their weight.

"I'll come back soon. Let me get the requisite six hours of sleep on my doctor's orders and then I'll be back. I'll even set my alarm, okay?" Phil said.

"You never use an alarm," Clint mumbled.

"Yeah, but I'm off my game right now."

"Me, too."

"Yeah," Phil said with a sigh.

Clint tried to think of something to say. He just wanted to stay awake and keep talking. He wanted to keep Phil on his bed, looking at him with kindness and no fear. But his eyelids were heavy and nothing would come.

"Sleep, Clint. I'll come back. We'll work everything out. We always do."

"You've never been afraid of me b-b-before" Clint said.

"Shh. I'm not afraid of you right now. I'm worried and I want you to rest," Phil replied. He leaned over and ran his hand through Clint's hair, caressed his cheek, and leaned over and kissed him.

Clint was asleep before Phil leaned back up.


	4. Choices

**A/N: Thank you to everyone following and commenting! Thanks big-time to jesseofthenorth this chapter. The nightmare that Phil has is taken from their drabble, "Felled by the King of Lies" (damn FF for not letting me include a link – go to archiveofourown to find it if you'd like to read it). Used by permission. And thank you to dysprositos for beta-ing hard this time; it helped a lot. **

Phil watched as Clint fell asleep, watched as the lines of worry relaxed on his face and his breathing shifted from frantic to calm. He sat and just watched him sleep for a minute before Bruce poked his head back in and said, "Is he okay?"

Phil nodded and looked up. "Sleeping."

"Do you need a hand?" Bruce said.

Phil took a deep breath and stood. "No, I'm all right. Just. . . Do you know what's wrong with him?"

Bruce hesitated, and then beckoned Phil out of the bedroom. Tony was standing in the living area and Phil and Bruce joined him. Bruce gestured to the couch. "Sit down for a minute, okay?"

Phil nodded and sat, and Tony did too.

"It's psychological, isn't it?" Phil said, wearily.

"I think so," Bruce said. "The test tonight showed that he was extremely agitated, but physically his brain looks good. The doctor is one of the best neurologists we have, and she can't figure anything out. She _is_ going to look through all the test results again tomorrow, she said, but I doubt she'll find anything."

"The pain seems real," Tony said as he fiddled with the tablet in his hands.

"Yeah. The headaches are probably a combination of the concussion effects and a psychosomatic response to his stress levels. I'm hoping tomorrow he can have a low-key day and stay out of the medical wing entirely, which should help. I'll have the therapist come up here for his arm, and same with the doctor if she needs to see him. I think he should sit in on a debrief, too, from the mission. A little bit of normalcy will help."

Normalcy.

Phil looked up at Tony and Bruce. "I'm just a reminder."

Bruce and Tony looked over sharply. "What?" Tony said.

"You're talking about normal. You're talking about getting him into a routine and around normal scenarios. Right?"

Bruce nodded.

"I'm walking around with a sling and a visible reminder of what Loki did to him. I'm constantly, even when I'm not having a panic attack over him, reminding him of Loki. How the hell do I change that? How do I make this all normal when it's not?"

"You had a panic attack over him?" Tony said.

Bruce waved him off, "Not now, Tony. Phil, this isn't your fault. He's been a time bomb since the whole Loki thing went down. The mission and concussion just triggered everything."

"But I tell him I'm afraid of him and then expect him to just roll with that? He has to watch Tony helping me around the halls and we expect that to seem normal?" Phil could feel panic rising in his own chest.

Bruce must have seen it, too. "Stop. I'm not saying things have to go back to normal in order for him to get over this. You're not listening, Phil. I'm saying we have to give him normal situations. Let him feel in his element, not out of it. You, Phil, are part of his element. You're not the problem."

"You're _my_ problem, though, Agent," Tony said, standing up. "We need to get you back to get some sleep. How long do you think K-k-ken's going to be out?"

"Apologize," Phil said with a grin, and then he sighed. "And don't you ever say that or anything close again."

"See? You've got a sense of humor after all. I knew the archer liked you for some reason," Tony said, heading for the door. "Seriously, Bruce. When do you want me to bring our pin cushion back?"

Bruce shook his head. "You're an asshole, Tony. I'll text you when Clint's up and if Phil's had his six hours he can come back. If you want to," he added, looking at Phil. Phil just kept quiet.

He let Tony take him back to the tower, and he crashed in his bed. He'd ask Tony about taking him back to his own apartment tomorrow.

When he woke later he had fulfilled the six hours required and felt a little better. He got up and cleaned up, deciding to try a suit. A suit was normal. He pulled the dress shirt on without buttoning it, grabbed his tie and jacket, and went down to the common room to see if someone could help him button up and tie the tie. Steve was having breakfast when Phil came in.

"Morning, Agent Coulson," Steve said. "There's coffee if you want some."

"Thanks, Captain." Phil laid his tie and jacket down on the couch and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down across from Steve and grinned. "I'm Phil, by the way."It's not as if Steve didn't know this. Not as if he hadn't told him this twenty times since he'd woken from Loki's spear, but it didn't seem to stick.

"Sorry, sir. I mean, Phil. You're my superior officer, though. It's a hard habit to break."

Phil nodded. "I can't even manage my own tie, though. Somehow, I think at moments like this, you could get past it."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, I suppose. Do you need help with your tie?"

Phil sighed. "Actually, yes."

"Are you going back to work today?" Steve asked as he reached for the tie.

"Well, I'm going back over to SHIELD to work with medical and see Clint. I thought the suit would feel better," Phil said.

"For you or for him?"

Phil had figured out quickly that Steve Rogers was insightful about people once he awoke from Loki's attack. "I suppose for us both," he said as he lifted his chin so that Steve could button his shirt and tie the knot.

Steve nodded and helped Phil slip the jacket on and readjust the sling around his shoulder. "Yeah, familiarity is good. Hey, I spoke with Clint yesterday at the mess hall. He sounded better. That's good, right?"

Phil shrugged. "He went into a bit of a tailspin after you saw him, actually, but Bruce thinks a day or two of normal routines without medical getting in the way will help."

"Yeah, routines and a good looking guy in a suit can do wonders for anyone," Steve said with a grin. Phil blushed as he watched him put his dishes in the dishwasher and leaned over the counter. "Do you want a ride over to SHIELD? I can get one of Tony's cars."

"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks."

They made it over to SHIELD about eight and a half hours exactly since Phil left Clint's bedside. When they found their way to Clint's room, he wasn't there. They checked medical, and learned he'd already been in for a round of PT that morning. The therapist suggested they check the mess hall.

They found Clint, Natasha, and Bruce sitting at a table having breakfast. Clint looked up sharply as he noticed Phil and Steve come in. Phil saw his eyes run all the way down Phil's body, noticing the suit. He might have been imagining the look of relief in Clint's eyes, but he didn't think so. Natasha pulled a chair between her and Clint so that Phil could sit down next to him. Steve pulled a chair over, too.

"You look good, Phil," Natasha said, her eyes sparkling.

"That's an un-understatement," Clint said with a smile, leaning into Phil's good shoulder.

"Thanks. I feel pretty good today. I'm going to try most of it on my own. How are you guys doing?" Phil said, casually.

"Me?" Bruce said with a smile, "I'm great. Thanks."

Clint shrugged. "I slept o-o-kay. Shoulder f-f-feels better today."

Phil watched him carefully and pulled his hand into his own under the table.

"PT went well, "Clint added. "They say I can start light activity soon."

"Soon means four or five days, Clint," Natasha said.

"Yeah, so I've got four or five days to get my bows and guns cleaned up for p-practice," Clint said, and everyone stared at him. "What?" he asked.

"You sound great," Phil said, rubbing small circles around Clint's thumb under the table.

"Yeah, Bruce ex-ex-explained that a lot of this is in m-m-my head."

Bruce sighed. "Doesn't mean it's not a real problem, Clint. I tried to tell you that, too. Psychosomatic doesn't mean you're making it up."

Clint just shrugged and took a drink of coffee. Phil could feel his embarrassment, how he was trying to downplay the problem. Clint was good at downplaying problems, and Phil hated when he did that. It was as if Clint didn't think his problems merited as much attention as other peoples'. More often than not, Phil had to pry information out of Clint before he could even attempt to help him.

"What are you up to this morning?" Phil asked, trying to change the subject.

"I don't kn-know," Clint said.

"Debriefing at ten, I know that much," Phil said.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "D-d-debriefing?"

"The mission, Clint. You haven't debriefed the mission since you've been…out of commission," Natasha said.

"Oh. Okay," Clint replied. "I guess I can do that."

"You still need to take it easy," Bruce reminded him, quietly.

"Yeah, okay. C-can I clean one of my b-b-bows?"

"Sure," Natasha said. "I can get the stuff up to your room or we can go down to the range."

"B-bring it up to the room, okay?" Clint said. "Bring the recurve today."

Phil smiled. "Someone needs to help you remember to get back to PT for therapy later. And lunch. Don't forget lunch."

"Yes, mom," Clint said.

"Who do you want to come by and take you down to therapy?" Bruce asked.

"I'll do it," Phil and Natasha said at the same time.

Steve laughed. "You have to choose between Phil and Natasha. Tough choice."

With a gasp that had everyone fixing him with worried stares, the nightmare came back to Phil with a vengeance. He'd had it several times since waking from Loki's attack, and it left him breathless and gasping every time. This was no different.

_He and Natasha were standing on a grey metal platform in a darkened room. A spotlight popped on and they could see that they were in a cavernous room and there was a pedestal above them. They couldn't talk to each other to plan anything, and they couldn't move a muscle, despite the lack of bonds. The spotlight was on the pedestal only a little bit above them and two figures stood on it, backlit. Suddenly, another spotlight shone down, illuminating Clint and Loki on the pedestal. Clint's eyes were a shocking blue, and Loki stood facing Clint. _

"_Choose," Loki hissed, "Choose which one you love more and I'll kill the other." Without hesitation Clint leaned over and whispered in Loki's ear and then leaned back, fixing his ice-blue eyes on Phil and Natasha. Loki disappeared from the pedestal and appeared behind Phil with a cold laugh, and he shoved his spear through Phil's chest while Clint stood and watched from the pedestal. _

Phil shoved himself back out of his chair and stumbled as he tried to bolt from the room. He wasn't going to let Clint choose him again. He knew what that choice would mean. But he couldn't get his legs under him and he couldn't breathe. His knees gave out and he crashed to the floor of the mess hall and knew that Loki was going to get him, and he couldn't survive this time.

There was noise. Footsteps and alarmed voices. "Get a medic down here! He's hyperventilating!" Bruce's voice.

It was true. Phil tried to draw a breath but his lungs weren't working. He tried again to pull air in and it was like his throat was clamped shut. He looked up and saw Clint standing over him. All he saw was ice blue and Loki and he curled up in on himself, feeling pain rip through his chest again as he wrenched the wound. He tried to breathe again and felt hands pushing him down to the floor. He couldn't do anything about it. He tried. He thrashed and gasped and then he felt plastic over his face and cool oxygen washing down his throat and he pulled at it, finally breathing and feeling the strength seep out of his limbs as he lay limp on the ground.

Someone was holding his shoulders down and he heard Bruce's voice. "Lay still, Phil. Come on, lay still. You're in SHIELD headquarters and you're safe. You're safe, Phil. Breathe. Relax."

He breathed deeply and felt the oxygen fill his lungs and so he opened his eyes. There was a medic on one side holding the oxygen mask in place and feeling Phil's wrist for his pulse, and Steve was on the other side gently holding him down. His eyes were filled with concern and Phil held his gaze and nodded; he knew where he was now. Loki wasn't there. The pain in his chest was receding with each rich breath, and Clint was nowhere to be seen. Phil was safe.

The medic leaned over and pulled the mask off of Phil's face. "Sir, try to sit up, all right? I'd like to take you down to medical to check your injury. You may have pulled it."

Phil nodded and with Steve's help he sat up.

"What happened, Phil?" Bruce said, worried.

"Nightmare flashback," he said weakly.

"Loki?" Bruce asked.

"And Clint," Phil said, wincing. "Oh god, Clint." He'd ruined it. Whatever fear he had of Clint had been clear through the panic attack, and now Clint was gone. The relief that Clint wasn't around turned to guilt and he put his head on his knees.

Bruce rubbed his hand down his face. "So much for a normal day." He reached down and helped Phil stand.

Phil hung his head and felt shaky and weak as Steve supported him through the hallway down to medical. Phil sat silently as the medics stripped off his shirts and checked his injury. Everything looked okay, and Phil could tell that nothing had been pulled out of place in his scramble away from his nightmare. The problem was that every time Phil closed his eyes he saw Clint and Loki standing on the pedestal, looking down at him.

"Phil? What do you want to do now?" Bruce said.

Phil didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to feel, and he was afraid of what all of this was doing to Clint."I'm going to go to my office for awhile," he said, thinking perhaps a safe place would help him figure out the next steps. "If you see Natasha, could you ask her to come there?"

"Sure," Bruce said, giving him an odd look.

"Do you want me to help you up there?" Steve asked, quietly.

"No, thanks. I'll go on my own," Phil said. Steve nodded and Phil left, heading toward his office and laying down on his leather couch after locking the door. He looked up at the ceiling and then pulled the remote control that had been laying on the coffee table into his hand. He pressed a button and the room filled with music, a Vivaldi concerto that always worked to calm him down.

When a tile in his ceiling shifted and Clint suddenly dropped into his office, landing awkwardly in the middle of the room, he sat up, trying not to act too startled. The archer was holding his arm painfully; it was clear that climbing through the ductwork with a bullet wound wasn't the best idea. As Phil looked at him, he was glad that there was no panic in his chest, and that Clint's presence in his office felt normal, safe. Maybe dropping in through the ceiling was the best entrance Clint could have made, since it was the most normal entrance he ever used.

Phil gestured to the couch. "Sit down? You look like you need it." There was a thin sheen of sweat on Clint's forehead, and he was pale and drawn.

"No," Clint said, quietly, his voice rough. "Are you okay?"

Phil nodded. "Yes. Are you?"

"N-no."

"I didn't figure. I'm sorry, Clint," and he was, but he knew it wasn't enough.

"What w-w-w. .. happened b-back there, Phil?" His voice was bland, and it was clear he was trying not to be accusatory.

Phil took a deep breath and stood. Clint stepped backwards, away from him, and Phil realized that fear was working on both of them at the moment. "Steve triggered a flashback to a nightmare I've had a lot."

He wasn't going to be able to lie to Clint, but he really didn't want to explain the nightmare, so when Clint leaned back against the door and just stared at him, he stayed quiet, unwilling to offer more than that. They stared at each other for a while, and then Clint nodded once, turned and unlocked the door to Phil's office. He left, pulling it shut behind him.

Phil closed his eyes and stood stock still in his office for a very long time.


	5. Much Needed Space

**A/N: Thanks to dysprositos for beta goodness and the greatest OOC catch in the history of my writing. Thanks also to game-on-panda for consistent words of encouragement and cheer, and to veritas6.5 for all-out cheerleading. And, finally, to Steve Rogers, for showing up in my brain in the middle of the night and saving the day as only he can.**

Clint closed the door to Phil's office behind him and leaned against it, looking at Natasha. She was standing across the hall with her arms folded across her chest and her chin down a bit, eyeing him with a narrowed glare. He just nodded. "I kn-kn-know. Stupid."

When he saw Phil stumble backwards in the mess hall, falling to the ground with his arms folded over himself, Clint felt everything get a little grey around the edges, felt himself pulling back and away from the situation as quickly as he could. He was out of the room before Natasha noticed he was gone, and he ignored the pain in his shoulder as he ran to his favorite entrance to the ductworks and pulled himself up. He stayed still until the pain wore down and then he moved, heading for Phil's office. The ducts above Phil's office were safe, and he curled up in his favorite corner and closed his eyes against the headache that was coming on fast.

A while later he heard Phil come in and lock his door, and he uncurled. When he jumped down from the ducts and asked Phil what had happened, he heard his answer as if Phil was standing at the end of a very long tunnel. He didn't know what to say in reply. As he stared at Phil quietly, he saw his lover filled with an uncertainty that didn't belong, a doubt that had never been there before, a crack in the quiet confidence that Clint had always admired and, admittedly, craved.

He left the office before he had to see any more.

As Natasha looked at him in the hallway, he peeled himself off of the wall, still cradling his arm, and headed down to medical. He needed them to look at the sutures and he wanted to make arrangements for his own pain meds. He was done needing Bruce or someone else to look after him. He just wanted to be alone.

Clint sat in the med room while Natasha sat next to him. She still hadn't pried at what was going on, and he was, frankly, too tired to explain anything about how he was feeling. He let the medic undo the bandage and frown, telling him yes, he did tear a few of the stitches. So he sat still until Stephen, his nurse, came in to re-stitch things.

"What the hell did you do, Barton?" Stephen said with a grin as he stabbed him with a local before turning to gather his supplies.

"J-j-just being s-s-. . . . dumb," he said, and Stephen looked at him with a flash of sympathy as he tried to get the words out. He didn't say anything else, just stitched Clint back up and put a fresh bandage on the wound. Clint shrugged his shirt on with a little help and looked back at Stephen. "C-can you g-g-give me a . . . " and he lost the word. He lost it and didn't know what to substitute. He ground his teeth and tried again. "C-can you g-give me th-the . . . " He looked to Natasha for help.

"Painkillers, Clint?" she tried.

He nodded, "Yeah, b-but, a b-b-b. . . scrip." There it was, he thought with relief.

"You want a full prescription, Agent?" Stephen asked.

Clint just nodded.

"I have to run it by the neurologist, okay? Dosage that won't interfere with her stuff, but I imagine it'll be okay."

"I thought the tests were done," Natasha said.

"Yeah," Stephen said, washing his hands at the nearby sink. "She just wants to know what drugs he's on and approve how much. Just in case." He looked back at Clint. "Come back by in about an hour, okay? I'll have something filled and ready for you if she gives the okay."

Nodding, Clint hopped down from the table and headed out the door. Natasha followed him. He turned to her when they reached the hallway. "I n-n-need to be al-alone. Okay? J-just for an hour."

She frowned. "Let me just tag along, Clint. I won't push you, but I don't want you to be alone."

Anger flared in his chest. No one was acting the way they were supposed to act. "N-no. I have a b-b-ullet wound to re-recover from and everything el-else is in m-m-my head. I c-can be alone for a b-b-bit. I'll b-be back in an hour 'cause m-my head hurts." He turned and stalked off, daring her to follow him. She didn't.

He needed some air. Just some space and some air and no one looking at him all worried before they acted all fucked up around him. An hour where he didn't have to talk to anybody.

So he climbed the staircase to the roof and wandered around for a few minutes, taking in the sky and clouds and emptiness before his headache got the better of him. He found a corner and sat down, leaning back against the ledge and stretching his legs out on the ground. After a moment he scooted all the way down so that he was lying down, staring up at the sky.

He fell asleep.

As he chased Loki down in his dream, he was horrified when Loki turned around and smiled at him with Phil's face. He woke with a gasp and clenched his eyes shut as he tried to stop shaking. The sky was still bright and the air felt clean, so he got up and moved so he was sitting down on the ledge, one leg dangling over each side.

After a while he heard the door to the roof open. He was surprised that it was Tony, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, his arc reactor glowing blue underneath. Clint wished it were a different color. He looked up at Tony, though, and swung his leg around so he was facing him.

"Everyone's looking for you," Tony said, pulling his phone out of his jeans and quickly texted someone. "Not anymore," he added with a smile. "Medical was expecting you about an hour ago, you know."

"I f-fell asleep," Clint said, hopping down to the roof. "Lost track of time." He winced as he stepped toward the door, and Tony was watching him carefully. He didn't say anything, though. Clint was grateful.

"Hill wants to see us," Tony said, casually. "Time for the debrief."

Clint groaned. He followed Tony inside and headed down to the conference room. He wanted to stop at medical first because his head felt like someone was using a jackhammer on it, but he thought he'd better go straight to the debrief.

He did, and thankfully Agent Hill kept it very short and really only asked Clint one or two questions. He answered them pretty well, only losing words once, and Nat helped him out. When the meeting was over, he left without a word and headed for medical. Natasha caught up.

"Clint, wait," she said as he climbed on the elevator.

He pressed the hold button and she stepped on with him.

"You disappeared on me earlier," she said, pretending to be mad.

"J-just got some fresh air," he said, rubbing his temple and closing his eyes. He felt her hand on his arm. "I'm okay, Nat, just a . . . my head hurts," he said, looking at her wearily.

"Okay," she said. "Where do you want to stay tonight?"

He shrugged. "T-Tony mentioned the Tower."

"Good," she said, and she escorted him to medical and then back over to the Tower. They were there by noon and he took some of the pain killers and promised he'd call her when he woke up.

When he woke it was night. He looked at his clock and it read ten-thirty, but there was no way he was going to get back to sleep now. He hadn't expected to sleep that long, and he was grateful the nightmares didn't fully wake him this time. He was awake now, though, so he got up and washed his face then pulled on a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt. He was used to maneuvering into clothes with a bum arm or leg, so he also grabbed his leather jacket from his closet. Maybe he could get some real fresh air tonight. A walk in the city sounded good.

He picked up his phone to text Natasha as promised, but then he hesitated. Before calling her he wanted some space. He figured a wander through the Tower to clear his head would help, and then he'd call her to go out for a walk since she'd have his head if he went alone in the shape he was in. He wandered to the common room and grabbed a soda, but no one was there. He wandered past Bruce's lab and it was dark, and surprisingly Tony's was dark as well. After a bit he found himself in the garage.

He loved Tony's garage. He loved cars, really, and motorcycles even more. He found himself running his hands along the rim of a vintage Harley, and was startled when he heard a voice behind him.

"Wanna take a ride?" Steve asked, approaching Clint slowly. He was dressed as if it were the middle of the day, not late at night, wearing brown pants and his brown leather jacket over a white t-shirt. Nodding at Clint's shoulder, he asked, "Can you ride shotgun with your arm?"

It sounded perfect. It would probably wear him the hell out, but right now he didn't care. Cap would make sure it went okay. He nodded. "I think so."

"Let's give it a try, then. I was headed out to a spot I like; I can show you if you want," Steve said, climbing onto the bike.

"Sure," Clint said with a grin.

He gripped the handgrip on the bike with his good hand as Steve laughed and said, "I'll take it easy" as he started the engine. It sounded like freedom.

They rode through the city lights and onto the freeway out of town. Steve took an exit into the countryside and wove along back roads for almost an hour. Clint's hand was getting tired by the time they stopped, but the air tasted like nectar and the silence when Steve turned off the engine made Clint shudder with relief. He pulled off his helmet and took a deep breath of the country air and then grinned at Steve.

"Thanks," he said.

"Just wait. Come on," Steve replied, beckoning Clint down a short path through some bushes. The bush path opened onto a sprawling field filled with wildflowers and grasses. It was dark, but Clint could smell the flowers and it calmed him even more. He followed Steve, who seemed to have a destination in mind. After a minute they came to a small clearing, and Steve shrugged off his coat and sat down on the grass. He looked up and pointed.

Clint looked up and almost fell over. The sky was black opal with stars draping the night like it was a field of diamonds. Clint sat down next to Steve and leaned back, cradling his head with his good hand and lying down on the ground completely. He didn't say anything, and neither did Steve; the two men just lay there staring at the night sky and breathing the crisp air. Clint almost fell asleep again, but after a while, Steve sat back up.

"If you want to walk, there's a good path I know, but if you want to go back we can do that, too."

Clint didn't answer, just held out his good arm and let Steve help him up. He nodded and said, "A short walk would be good." He followed as Steve led the way through the field, letting the brightness of the stars and moon light their way. Clint savored the silence, the emptiness, the space. They walked for about fifteen minutes and ended up back at the bike.

"We should go, Clint," Steve said, zipping up his jacket.

Clint did the same and pulled on the helmet after taking one last look around. "This is a good place," he said, quietly.

Steve just nodded and climbed on the bike. Clint followed and gripped the side as Steve pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road. As they rode, Clint thought about going back to the Tower. It felt like he was going back to a prison, and the realization startled him. He'd come to enjoy being with the others, but Phil's return had thrown everything off. A pang of guilt hit him as he realized that it was the whole situation with Phil that he didn't want to go back to, but he didn't know what else to feel. He leaned into Steve's back with his helmet and closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing steady despite the anxiety starting to claw its way into his chest.

Steve must have noticed, because he found a good spot to pull over to the side of the road and he stopped, pulling his helmet off and looking at Clint with worry. "Are you okay?"

Clint climbed off the bike and tugged his own helmet off, running his hand through his hair and then turning away, finding a spot on the bank of the road to sit down on. He pulled his knees up and held his bad shoulder with his good hand. Steve turned off the bike and sat down next to him.

"I know it's s-s-stupid, b-but I don't w-want to go b-back," Clint said.

Steve looked at him long and hard for a moment and then sighed and looked away. After a moment he started talking, obviously trying to keep his voice even. "You know, about a month before I fell into the ice, my squad and I had to raid a moving train – there was a scientist we had to get our hands on. My best friend and I were working our way through the train when we were attacked by HYDRA troops. At the end of the fight, Bucky was knocked out of the side of the train and I…tried to catch him. I missed." He stopped and took a deep breath. "I watched him fall to his death in an icy canyon and he was gone. Dead because I couldn't manage to grab him in time. I was a wreck. He'd been my best friend since we were kids; he was the only person around who really knew me before the serum and super soldier program. A month later I flew a plane into a glacier and woke up seventy years in the future. When I woke he was still dead."

Clint looked over at Steve, who was now looking very carefully at Clint.

"I know you don't like the way things are going now with Agent Coulson," Steve said and suddenly Clint knew where this was going. He sighed and looked away. "But he came back. You loved him and he was your best friend and he died. I watched you blame yourself and I watched you grieve for him and then he came back. Do you have any idea how jealous I am of the two of you? Do you know how lucky you are?"

Clint looked over and saw Steve take a shaky breath. "I'm s-sorry, Steve," he said, quietly. Steve just nodded. "Help me up?" Clint asked, holding out his arm. Steve smiled and stood, pulling Clint up next to him.

"You just have to try, Clint" Steve said, keeping his grip on Clint's arm and looking him in the eye. "I just need to see you try."

Clint just nodded and pulled his helmet back on. They both climbed on the bike and Steve got them back to the Tower as quickly as he could. When they arrived and put the bike and helmets away, Clint walked with Steve to the elevator. He went to push the button for his own floor, but he hesitated. He looked up at Steve and then pushed the button for Phil's floor. When the elevator arrived there, Clint stepped off the elevator and turned back to Steve. "Thanks," he said, and Steve just nodded and gave him a small salute.

Steve was right. If Phil was afraid of him, then he just needed to be there for him. He needed to think of Phil instead of thinking of how Phil was acting. He walked to the door and stopped. It was probably about four in the morning and hopefully Phil was sleeping. As he stood there thinking of what to do, JARVIS spoke up.

"Sir, it seems as if you would like entry to Agent Coulson's apartment. I thought it best to inform you that you and Agent Coulson have complete access to each other's rooms, per Mr. Stark's security parameters."

Clint sighed. Leave it to Stark. "Thanks, JARVIS," he said, and then palmed his way into Phil's rooms. It was dark, and Clint really didn't want to startle Phil, but he needed to be here. He needed to prove that he could make a move, that he wanted this. Phil's fear was new to Clint; he'd only seen Phil truly afraid a few times over the years and to see it on a daily basis scared the hell out of him. But if Phil was afraid of him, he could do something about it.

So he toed off his shoes in the entranceway and pulled a couple of pain killers out of his pocket and dry swallowed them. He padded quietly to Phil's room. He looked in and grimaced when he saw that Phil was sleeping with the lights on, but at least he was sleeping. Clint watched him for a moment, soaking in the sight of Phil relaxed. Then Clint turned and headed back to the living area and pulled a blanket off of the back of the couch. He stretched out on the couch and pulled the blanket around him, feeling the medicine start to kick in. Before he fell asleep he texted Natasha.

"Went out with Steve for a while. . . he's pretty smart. I'm taking a nap in Phil's living room and hopefully we'll both see you at breakfast."

When he woke a couple hours later, Phil was sitting in the chair next to the couch with a cup of coffee, just watching him wake up, a small smile pulling at his cheeks.


	6. Parallels

**A/N: Thanks to dysprositos for continued beta awesome. And thanks to Everyone who has favorite or followed or commented on my story. I Really appreciate it! **

When Phil woke in the morning, he pulled on a pair of pants and wandered out to the kitchenette to make a pot of coffee; he was glad coffee didn't interfere with any of the medication he was on. As he passed his living area he stopped and turned to the couch. He looked down, and there was Clint, stretched out the length of the couch with a blanket partially on his legs and partially on the floor. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, and his black leather jacket was hung neatly on the hook near the door. He had one arm over his chest and the other slung behind his head, and he was snoring softly.

Phil didn't know why he was there, but seeing him sound asleep, knowing he let himself in with a purpose and felt comfortable enough to relax in Phil's space, well, that made Phil feel calmer and better than he had in weeks. They shared spaces; that's what they always did. This, as Bruce would say, was Clint's element.

After watching for a few minutes and determining that Clint was still sleeping pretty soundly, Phil made a pot of coffee and went back to his room. He could do routine. He went into the bathroom and got himself ready for the day, enjoying the warm feeling in his chest that didn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon. After he had his suit on minus the tie and buttons, he went and fixed himself a cup of coffee, grabbed his tablet, and sat down in the chair to wait for Clint to wake.

Clint had a way of waking slowly when he was in a trustworthy place, unlike Phil. Phil was military all the way. He would fall asleep on a dime and was abruptly awake as soon as he needed to be. Clint could do that, did do that in the field all the time, but he preferred not to. So when he was someplace he felt safe, it took him a groggy few minutes to become aware of the world.

Phil watched, setting the tablet he was working on aside as Clint blinked his unfocused eyes, pulled his knees up, and arched his back in a cat-like stretch. There was a deep breath, a wipe of his hand across his face and through his hair, tousling it, and a little shiver as his body readjusted to actually feeling the air around him. Today it was followed by a wince as he pulled his shoulder wrong in his stretch, but that turned into a yawn, and finally he opened his eyes.

"Hey," Phil said, taking a sip of his coffee and trying very hard not to grin too broadly. He wanted Clint to know he was happy to find him here, but being ridiculous about it wasn't necessary.

Clint just stared at him for a moment and then sighed. "M-morning?"

Phil chuckled. "Yes, it's morning. Is your clock getting out of whack?"

Clint nodded and said, "Yeah. I was out p-pretty late last night, too, so I w-wasn't sure." He paused and added, "I hope it's okay I s-s . . . crashed here."

Phil couldn't help the grin spreading a little. "Of course it's okay."

Clint sat up with a groan and almost didn't make it up, but Phil quickly put down his coffee and offered a hand.

"You all right?" he said, concerned.

"Yeah," Clint replied, sucking a breath in through clenched teeth. "Steve t-took me for a ride on his bike last night; probably wasn't the b-best thing for the shoulder."

"Where'd you go?" Phil asked.

"He took me out to this a-a-amazing spot outside the city. So m-many stars," he said with a grin. "We should g-go out there sometime. You'd love it."

The morning kept getting better. "That sounds good," Phil said. "Do you want some coffee?"

Clint stood gingerly and so did Phil. "Sure, thanks."

They moved to the kitchen area and Phil poured a cup for Clint. He looked up at him and said, "Do you want cream and sugar today?" Clint gave an embarrassed grin and nodded. He usually drank his coffee black, but when he was hurt or sick he tended to make it a goopy, sugary mess. Phil didn't want to presume anything today, but he wasn't surprised that Clint wanted it sweet. He fixed it the way Clint liked it and handed it over. "I can't offer full breakfast, but I can make you some toast or cereal if you want some."

Clint gave him a puzzled look and then smiled. "I g-guess toast would be good. I haven't eaten much since y-yesterday morning." Phil looked up sharply at him, and Clint actually looked sorry. "Not your f-fault, Phil. I ended up crashing on painkillers for most of the day and then Steve took me out for a ride. Just missed d-d-d. . . mealtimes."

Phil was quiet as he fiddled with the toaster and bread.

They sat at the small table and had toast, juice, and coffee together and Clint asked to borrow Phil's tablet to check the baseball standings. They talked about a few of the new recruits at SHIELD and even talked movies a bit. When Clint finished his toast, he stood and cleared both plates to the small sink, drank the rest of his coffee, and leaned back against the counter.

"D-do you have meetings t-today?" he asked.

Phil hesitated. He didn't have meetings that he had to go to, but he had meetings he could go to. He was about to say no when something occurred to him. "Yes," he said, "I've got two that I need to go to plus a PT appointment. What about you?"

Clint ran his hand through his hair. "I have PT, and F-fury scheduled a ps-ps. . . shrink appointment."

Phil looked at him carefully. "You okay with that right now?"

Clint turned and ran some water in his cup to rinse it out. "C-can't hurt."

"If you want to shower here, you can," Phil said, changing the subject.

"Th-thanks. Hey, do you w-want to meet for d-dinner?"

Phil grinned. "Definitely. I was going to go back to my actual apartment tonight. Do you want to come?" He didn't specify just dinner and Clint didn't ask.

"I'm su-supposed to b-be cleared for driving today," Clint said, "I c-can pick you up f-from SHIELD." Phil nodded and they agreed to meet at the exit at five.

Then he decided what the hell. Clint was offering trust by sleeping here last night, the least he could do was offer some trust of his own. He leaned over and pulled Clint into a hug. He felt Clint's breath hitch as he pulled him in close, and he whispered, "Thank you for crashing here last night." Clint nodded into his shoulder and ran his hands through Phil's hair. It sent a warm rush through Phil's body. They leaned apart after a moment and Clint just smiled and stepped back.

"I'll see you later," he said quietly and he left the room, grabbing his jacket on his way out.

Phil stood still for a moment, and then turned and poured himself another cup of coffee in a travel mug. He'd forgotten to ask Clint to tie his tie for him, so he just headed down where Steve was waiting, having agreed to drive him back to SHIELD.

"Morning, Captain," Phil said as he approached the car.

"Morning, sir," Steve said with a grin. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Phil nodded, "Yes, thanks."

They got in the car and drove to SHIELD. When they arrived, Steve helped Phil with his shirt and tie again.

Steve chuckled as he buttoned the last button and started on the tie. "This is getting to be a habit, sir."

Phil nodded and offered, "I forgot to ask Clint to do it before he left."

Steve looked up at him sharply and then grinned. "He found you this morning, then?"

"Yes," Phil said. And then, quietly, "I don't know what you said to him last night, but he was relaxed this morning when he woke. I appreciate that. It was good to see."

Steve shrugged. "I just gave him a little perspective, I think."

"Not just the stars," Phil stated.

"No, not just the stars," Steve said. And then he headed off in his own direction. "Have a good day, Phil."

Phil watched him go and then pulled on his professional face and headed for the conference room and his first meeting. He felt good going in, but an hour and a half-long meeting about weapons protocol did a number on him, especially sitting for that long. At the hour and a half mark Fury leaned over and told him to get out of there for now and thanked him for coming for at least part of it. Phil nodded and took his leave.

He walked down to medical to see if Clint was there, but they told him that Clint was in the gym with the PT guys, but that if Phil wanted to stay he could get his PT out of the way. He did, and by lunch he was exhausted. He made his way up to his office and lay down on his leather couch and was asleep in a minute.

He woke in time for the second meeting, and sat through that whole thing, which felt like an accomplishment. People seemed glad to see him, and a couple of people even stopped after the meeting to tell him how glad they were he was back. He was worn out, though, and when he made his way down to the pickup at five, he was leaning heavily on a pillar as he waited. He saw Clint drive up, and the familiarity of the whole scene threatened to overwhelm him.

He climbed into the car and as soon as he finished buckling his seatbelt Clint spoke up. "I th-thought we'd just get takeout from that T-thai place around the corner. You c-can go on up to your apartment and crash while I p-pick it up." His voice sounded too even, too calm to Phil, but he was so exhausted he figured he'd let it slide at least until they'd eaten something, and he agreed. Clint parked on the street in front of Phil's apartment and they both slid out of the car. "Th-the usual?" Clint asked. Phil nodded and headed upstairs.

About an hour and a half later, Phil woke up from crashing on his plush couch, and Clint was sitting cross-legged in a chair, just watching him.

"I p-put the food in the oven. F-figured we could eat it t-t-. . ." and he lost the word again, dropping his head down to his chest in frustration.

Phil just nodded. "It's okay, thanks."

They stood and seamlessly moved around Phil's kitchen gathering plates, utensils, napkins, and drinks. A few minutes later they were sitting at the table. They ate quietly for a while, but neither had their usual appetites, so they didn't finish their meals. Clint insisted that Phil go rest while he put dishes in the dishwasher, and Phil took him up on it, grabbing a chance to head to the bedroom and change out of his now-rumpled suit. He emerged a few minutes later in jeans and a sweatshirt just as Clint was closing the dishwasher door.

"Thanks," Phil said, heading for the couch.

Clint nodded and sat down in the chair he was in before. Phil watched as he ran his hand through his hair and tried to get comfortable. "How's your headache?" Phil said, knowing already that Clint's shoulder was achy.

"B-better now that I ate," Clint says with a small smile.

"You look exhausted," Phil said, hoping to get an answer about the even, measured tone he'd heard earlier in the car.

"Yeah, I h-h-…really don't like psychologists," Clint said.

Phil smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "I can imagine."

"They m-mean well, b-but Jesus, are you r-really supposed to f-feel like week-old g-garbage when you're done?"

Phil laughed. "They break you down to build you up."

Clint looked at him curiously. "I g-guess."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just resting.

Clint ran a hand down his face and sighed. "I'm so g-goddamned tired. I should g-go."

Phil nodded. "You can have the couch here if you want to stay." He was met with silence. After a moment he asked, quietly, "Can I ask you something about Loki?" They hadn't spoken about Loki directly since Phil had woken up – there just hadn't been a moment or a need. But suddenly Phil wanted to know something. Clint looked at him sharply, and then just nodded his head, holding Phil's gaze. "Did you sleep while you were with him?"

Clint looked confused, as if that wasn't the question he was expecting. He gave Phil a small smile. "N-no. I d-don't think so. I d-don't remember everything, b-but I remember b-being tired. And hungry."

Phil watched as Clint tried to school his face into a calm expression, and then Clint went on.

"And angry. God, Phil I was so angry. All the d-damned t-time. Like it was the only th-thing I knew to feel. So when h-he pointed me at a t-target I just wanted to get r-rid of it 'cause I was s-so mad. And. . ." he broke off and was silent for a moment, dropping his head to his chest.

Phil leaned forward and said, "You can keep talking, Clint. If you want to, I'll listen. You're safe."

Clint looked up at him and his gaze was intense. "Proud," he said.

"What?"

"He m-made me f-feel proud. . . . of what I w-was d-doing. L-like I w-was the o-only one who could have d-done it." Clint stood and began pacing. Phil stood, too, watching carefully. Clint paced for more than a minute before he spoke again. This time he stopped, and his voice was almost a whisper. "You k-know he made me feel l-like I m-mattered. I w-wanted to p-please him. T-to know that I was im-im. . . valuable to him." Clint took a ragged breath. "D-do you know the o-only other p-person in m-my life who has m-made me feel like th-that? The o-only person I've w-w. . . cared about p-pleasing s-so much? There's only one," he said with a twisted grin.

Phil felt a sinking feeling in his gut as he figured out the answer just as Clint spoke.

"You, Phil. H-he m-made me feel l-like I d-do when I'm with you." He sat down heavily on the couch and added, "S-so what the fuck am I s-supposed to do with th-that?"

Phil didn't know what either one of them was supposed to do with that. He sat down, too, in the chair Clint had been in earlier. He ran his hand across his chest where the wound was, and he looked over at Clint, who looked wrecked, scared, lost.

"What do you think you _can_ do with it, Clint?" Phil asked, carefully. He watched as Clint waited for an answer to come to him, waited and assessed his own feelings. Clint was comparing Phil to Loki. A greater insult might not be possible. Phil was nothing like Loki, and neither was their relationship. Phil shouldn't fear that.

"He did the same thing, t-too," Clint said, softly.

"What?" Phil asked.

"What SH-SHIELD did, Loki did."

"What do you mean, Clint?"

"He m-made me into a weapon. He pointed, I shot. He g-gave orders, I followed them. He recognized m-my skills and used them. J-just like SHIELD. Just like you."

This is what they were left with, then. Loki conjured feelings in Clint that were too similar to what he felt with Phil and SHIELD, and that scared him. It scared Phil, too.

Is that all they had done? Had they manipulated the young, defenseless kid who had grown up being taken advantage of? Was that all Clint was – someone who wasn't anyone without someone to please, to work for, to live for? Malleable? This was what was sitting in the room, diffused into the space between their words. Clint wasn't himself with Loki, but he was an _awful_ lot like who he was with SHIELD. So where did that leave him?

"You're more than that, Clint," Phil said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. "We didn't make you a weapon. We gave you a place to find yourself as a man."

Clint laughed bitterly. "You t-told me how to hone my skills, how to manipulate p-people for information, how to kill more efficiently. D-do you know how efficient L-loki was? He saw me and saw a weapon already m-made. He just had to t-take my conscience away and p-point me at who he wanted dead. It must have b-been easy," he said, and his voice had dropped to a murmur by the end.

And there it was. Phil stood and sat down next to Clint on the couch. Clint flinched a little bit, but Phil stayed put. He held out his hand to Clint, inviting him. After a moment, Clint looked at him and put his hand in Phil's. It was shaking.

"We didn't make a weapon, Clint. I wasn't molding an assassin. Yes, that was your job a lot of the time with us, but that's not what you were. You were a man with a conscience, someone who knew the trade, knew the dangers, the pitfalls, the angles but knew how to navigate them. You had a conscience, Clint, and you still have one now. You're right – Loki took your conscience. He took what made you the guy I fell in love with. The guy who knew when an op was wrong and who fought to bring a young woman into our organization when we told you to kill her. You're the one who did that. That wasn't SHIELD or me at all, Clint. You saw the good in Natasha and forced us to bring her in. You were ready to walk away! Don't you remember? You said that – 'let me bring her in or watch me leave.' Knowing full well we'd probably kill both of you if you left. That was your choice. Loki never gave you a choice; never saw the man that I see here."

He leaned in and brushed Clint's cheek with a soft kiss and pulled back. Clint dropped his head to his chest again and stayed very still for a few moments.

"I'm so tired, Phil," he said, weakly.

"I know," Phil replied. "Stay here. I'll watch over you."

"What about you? What about your flashbacks and nightmares?" Clint asked, looking up at Phil with tears in his eyes.

"They're just dreams, Clint. They're horrible what-if scenarios that never happened; that never will happen. I know I'm safe with you. You just have to give my brain time to catch up."

Clint nodded and lay down on the couch, and when Phil draped a blanket over him he pulled it close around his chest, taking shuddering breaths. Phil sat down on the floor next to him and stroked his hair and cheek, explaining in soft murmurs how they were both safe here, how they would take care of each other, how Loki would lose his grip on them both now. Clint fell asleep, and Phil watched for a very long time before finding his way back to his own bed, lying down unafraid for the first time since he'd woke.


	7. When He Woke

**A/N: So this is it. I appreciate all the support, follows, favorites, and notes everyone has left. Just in time for real life to kick back in after summer break, I am calling this finished. Thanks to dysprositos for outstanding beta-ing and general encouragement.**

Clint woke feeling heavy; his shoulder ached dully and his back was stiff from two nights in a row on a couch, but he felt rested, and he had woken up feeling safe two days in a row. Safe was unique and good. He liked Phil's apartment for a lot of reasons, but one of them was the sight lines. Phil had decorated it with agents in mind, it seemed. Lying on the couch he could see both the entry door and the large dining table between the door and the hallway back to the bedroom.

He glanced at the table and saw Phil sitting there, wearing his jeans and a green sweater over a white button down, hunched over a file with a pen in his mouth. His laptop was next to the file, and there were a lot of other files strewn across the table. There was a cup of something sitting in front of the laptop, and there was classical music playing softly from his iPod on the kitchen counter. Clint just watched him work for a minute, soaking in the familiar scene, enjoying Phil focusing on something other than him for a minute.

"Creepy staring-thing, Barton," Phil said through the pen in his mouth without looking up, and then he stole a glance at Clint and gave him a small smile.

Clint stretched on the couch and sat up, rubbing his hand through his hair. "Does m-medical know you're studying this hard?"

"Just double checking some other people's work, really," Phil said, leaning back in his chair. "How are you feeling?"

Clint shrugged. "R-rested. Achy. H-hungry. Take your pick." He stood and headed for the bathroom, not sure if he really wanted to open a conversation with Phil right now. He was grateful for being able to say the things he said last night, but now. . . now he wasn't really sure it was a good idea to hang around and open the door for more. As he stood in the bathroom brushing his teeth, he realized that Phil had to be at least a little pissed at what he'd said. A little. Maybe a lot. Shit.

He suddenly needed to leave. He half stumbled out of the bathroom. He couldn't ask Phil what he thought about their conversation. Phil would try to be nice about it – that was Phil – but he'd be hiding his thoughts, and Clint couldn't take that right now. Hiding was something he did. Not Phil.

He grabbed his coat and stood by the door.

Phil looked startled. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah, I've g-got an appointment pretty soon. I need to g-get back. If you want me t-to send s-someone over to pick you up later and b-bring you in to work, I can do that."

Phil put the pen down and crossed his arms. "Maybe you could come get me after your appointment?"

Clint ran his hand through his hair. He knew Phil was trying to corner him, get him to come back. Get him to talk. He sighed inwardly. Maybe after a little breathing room, he'd be ready to talk. Phil was usually smarter about the whole communication thing anyway. He should follow his lead as usual. It had worked for them before. Clint would get annoyed, upset, or angry and then would disappear for a while. Phil would wait patiently for a given amount of time and then come looking for Clint or . . . yeah. This was all pretty familiar, actually.

"Okay, I'll c-come b-back after my appointment. I'll t-text you when I'm on m-my way," he said as he opened the door to leave.

Phil simply said, "I'll see you later, then," and Clint nodded and closed the door behind him.

Clint didn't actually have an appointment for another hour, so he took a little time and took the long way back to the SHIELD headquarters. He turned his music up, put on some speed and drove for a while.

When he arrived at headquarters he headed for his therapy appointment. His arm was feeling better, stronger, and the therapist pushed him hard for it and made him compensate for the arm by kicking the shit out of the rest of his body so that by the end of the session he was soaking wet with sweat and his other muscles were shaking with exhaustion. He took a shower and decided that food was what he really needed. He needed it more than a guilt-ridden conversation where he tried to backpedal over comparing Phil and SHIELD to Loki. He sighed and went to find someone who could go get Phil.

Out of convenience he checked the mess hall first, and he was rewarded with Bruce just picking up a takeout order.

"You're r-resorting to SHIELD f-fare, doc. That can't be good."

Bruce looked up and grinned, "All nighter in the lab forced my hand."

Clint shrugged. "You taking that back to the Tower or what?"

"I was just going to find a quiet spot, really. A couple of SHIELD scientists are expecting me back this afternoon."

"Can I ask you a f-favor?" Clint said. Bruce nodded and Clint added, "Can you t-take it back to Phil's apartment and let him k-keep you company while you eat and then g-give him a ride back here?"

"Is he expecting you?" Bruce said.

Clint nodded. "I've g-got some things to d-do that c-came up."

"Okay, sure. I'll go get him," Bruce said.

"Thanks," Clint called as Bruce left. Avoidance of issues accomplished.

He was tired, so he headed back to his quarters and laid down for a while. He didn't sleep, though, and after a bit he headed down to the gym to see who was there. Natasha and Steve were sparring, so he settled onto a bench with a bottle of water and heckled them while they fought. When they were done, Natasha emerged from the showers and convinced Clint to go to a strategy meeting with her. He was cleared for it, and had been told that if he was feeling up to it he could come, so he joined her. It was good, getting his brain focused on something else for a while, and when the meeting was over he was practically humming with contentment about his day.

Of course, he'd been avoiding Phil, and Phil was around by now, so after the meeting Clint headed for someplace out of the way but good for him. He stopped by his quarters and picked up a book he'd been working on and a bottle of water, and he went to the roof. No one was supposed to be able to get to the roof for security reasons, but Phil had long ago given Clint clearance for sanity ones. Phil knew best how Clint decompressed, and after having to choose between an official reprimand and clearance enough times, he'd just given Clint free run of it. He wrote it off as Clint was able to perform security from there if necessary, and Fury understood.

Clint wandered the edges for a while, and then settled into a corner with his book, enjoying the silence and the fresh air. An hour later he heard footsteps approaching.

"I figure you're avoiding me," Phil said, standing above him and crossing his arms. He looked tired, but not really angry.

Clint looked up and shrugged. "Maybe a b-bit."

Phil sat down next to him and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Why?"

Clint mirrored him and said, "Why? R-really?"

"I thought we had a good conversation last night, Clint. I thought we figured some things out. Then you ran out and hid all day."

"I f-figured you'd had t-time to get mad about what I s-said," Clint said softly.

"Mad? Why the hell would I be mad, Clint?"

"B-because I c-compared you to Loki."

"You did? Hmmf. I missed that part," Phil said, a little smug. Clint just stared at him, not sure where he was going with this. Phil said, "I heard you tell me that Loki conjured feelings that reminded you of how I made you feel, how SHIELD made you feel. You were comparing feelings, Clint, not me and Loki."

Clint felt something unlock in his chest and he looked up at the sky. "You're not mad at me?" he asked.

Phil leaned over and put his arm around Clint. "No." He paused. "It makes sense," he said. "But I hope you'll realize that the feelings he stirred up and my feelings aren't the same, though." He looked over at Clint.

Clint thought for a moment. Phil's pride in him was what changed everything for Clint after he'd been brought into SHIELD. Clint had worked for people before, and he had always just been a punk, or a weapon, or a punching bag or some combination of all of that. When he got to SHIELD and they treated him like he had something good to offer, it was incredible. They acted like he was giving it to them. And when he realized later that Phil was personally proud of Clint and thought of him as a real person, a colleague and friend, it filled Clint with a purpose and drive he'd never felt before.

That was it. He took a deep breath and felt relief wash through his body like a wave. He shuddered and then leaned into Phil's arm and put his head on Phil's shoulder. He was silent for a while, and then he sat up and looked into Phil's eyes.

"You're amazing, you know," Clint said. Phil chuckled. "No, really. You are. Loki made me proud of what I was doing, made me feel special; that's true. But you made me feel proud of who I was, and I'd never been proud of who I was. You did that. Loki didn't do that. He could have cared less who I was. You put who I was before any mission or order since the day you guys found me." He paused as he realized something else. "You were proud of me. Loki was proud of what I did. There's a difference, and I know which one means more."

He leaned in kissed Phil, long and slow. His chest filled with warmth as Phil leaned into the kiss, pressing his tongue into Clint's mouth and reaching around with his hands and pulling Clint closer. After a moment, Clint pulled back and then leaned his forehead against Phil's and ran his hands through Phil's hair. "Thanks," he said gently, and Phil nodded.

"I love you," Phil said. "I always will."

Clint just grinned and pulled him into another kiss. Finally, they pulled apart and Clint said, "Can we leave work early today, Boss?"

Phil gave a put-upon sigh and said, "I suppose. Just this once."

They made their way back to Phil's apartment and Clint managed to let them both get in the door before he pressed Phil against the wall and kissed him hard and aggressive. He tugged on Phil's hair and then pulled his suit jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it on the couch. Phil pulled Clint's jacket off and tossed it to the floor. "Mine can get dirty but yours can't," Clint murmured through a kiss.

"You can get me as dirty as you want, but no, not the jacket," Phil replied.

"As dirty as I want, huh?" Clint said, undoing Phil's tie as he ran kisses down his neck.

"Mmmhmm," Phil replied, pulling Clint's t-shirt off and then tugging both of them down the hall to the bedroom.

They savored each other. They made love slowly, deliberately that night, feeling every bit of the other in a desperate attempt to make sure they were still whole, and when they finished, they lay sated on the bed, wrapped in each other's arms. It wasn't late, but they both fell asleep and Clint felt like he was home again as he slipped into his slumber.

A few hours later, Clint woke up to Phil's screams.

Clint felt panic wrap itself around his heart and he sat up, watching in horror as Phil twisted in the sheets, sweaty, trembling, and yelling "No! Don't choose! Clint, don't choose!"

He would have just sat there in shock, but he realized that Phil was close to hyperventilating and was going to fall out of bed if Clint didn't help. So he leaned in and pulled the sheets off, and then wrapped Phil in his arms, tightly. He spoke as calmly as he could. "Phil, you're s-safe. You're safe and I'm here. We're in your apartment and you're safe and I'm safe and p-please calm down, Phil. You're safe." He pulled Phil closer, into the space between his legs, so that he could wrap Phil in his own body entirely, cocooning him in an embrace.

After a few minutes Phil quieted, now just mumbling, "Don't choose, Clint, please. Don't choose." His hair was sweaty and he was trembling, but he wasn't hyperventilating anymore. Clint rubbed his hands up and down Phil's arms, wiped his face with the sheet, and watched as Phil clenched his eyes shut, still not really aware of what was going on. "Shhhh," Clint whispered, still rubbing Phil's arms, "Go back to sleep, Phil. I'll w-watch over you. You're safe." And he watched as Phil sunk back into sleep with trembling hands and the words, "don't choose, Clint," fading on his lips.

Clint held him all night. He held him and felt his weight on his chest as if Loki had stabbed him instead of Phil. He watched Phil sleep and stayed awake, and whenever Phil started to stir restlessly, Clint ran his hand down Phil's cheek and whispered, "You're safe. No one is choosing anything, shhh," and Phil would settle and cling to Clint a little more as Clint tried to puzzle out what choice could have Phil so terrified. He had no idea, though, and so he just watched and reassured and told himself over and over that Phil loved him, that Phil saw him as a man to respect, and that Phil would not really be afraid of Clint again.

The hours were long, but finally Phil stirred in wakefulness, and Clint rolled him off of his chest and onto a pillow, brushing his hand through Phil's hair. He tried to smile reassuringly as Phil opened his eyes and was instantly awake in true Phil fashion. "Morning," he said, gently. Phil grinned up at him and Clint felt the chill of watching him trapped in nightmare melt a little bit, and Phil leaned up and kissed Clint slowly.

"Good morning," Phil said, pulling away from the kiss. Clint felt him look him over in assessment mode, and a frown pulled at his face. "Did you sleep?"

Clint shrugged. "A little. You had n-nightmares."

Phil sat up, pulling the sheets around him a little tighter and his eyes darkening with concern. "Enough to keep you up most of the night?"

Clint nodded, "I wanted to m-make sure you were okay." Clint felt himself stuttering again. He thought he'd shaken it yesterday, Phil's confidence in him assuring him enough that the hesitant stutter had disappeared for the afternoon. He wanted that confidence back. He looked away from Phil, afraid that Phil would see the weakness creeping back into his eyes.

"Clint," Phil said, leaning into him and pulling Clint's eyes back with his voice. "What happened?"

Clint pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "You were d-dreaming of me – in a bad way. You k-kept yelling at me not to choose, you were screaming in desperation about it, like something I did was going to hurt you again. . . . . I'm s-sorry for whatever I did. I must have done something. S-something awful."

Phil was quiet, and then he got up out of bed and pulled on his underwear. He went to the bathroom for a few minutes and Clint just sat on the bed, rocking back and forth, his head on his knees. He heard Phil come back out and he looked up. Phil had washed his face and smoothed his hair down and found a t-shirt – god, he looked good to Clint. He just wanted to pull Phil back into bed and fuck him, to ignore whatever else was going on and lose himself in Phil's body, to feel reassured in the easiest way. But he didn't. He held himself even tighter and tried to stop rocking nervously.

Phil sat down on the edge of the bed and started talking. Clint could hear him trying to sound calm, trying to slip into Agent Agent voice, as Tony would say.

"I have a recurring dream. You and Loki are standing on a pedestal and Natasha and I are standing below you on a stage or something. We can't move at all, can't look at each other or talk to each other or anything. Loki turns to you and asks you to choose which one you love the most and promises to kill the other one, letting the one you love the most live. I have to watch as you lean over and answer him, and then he disappears and reappears behind me, running his staff through my chest."

Clint looks up at Phil and reaches for him. Phil looks surprised, but leans back into Clint and holds his hand. Clint pulls him closer and wraps his arms around Phil's chest, pulling his back against his own body and holding tight. He can feel Phil trembling a little against his chest, and he can feel his own heartbeat against Phil's back. He takes a deep breath and smiles a little, even though Phil can't see it.

"Loki's a trickster," Clint says, his mouth against Phil's ear. He can feel Phil stiffen a little bit when he hears that. "Loki loves to mess with mortals, you know that, Phil. Even if that scene happened, and I don't remember everything about when I was with him, including that, but even if it happened, how do you know what I said?"

Phil shrugged. "I guess I don't."

"I do," Clint said, and Phil pulled away from him, turning around so he could see Clint clearly.

"You said you don't remember that happening," Phil said.

Clint shrugged. "No, I don't remember it. But if it did happen, there's only one answer I could have given."

"What?" Phil asked, quietly.

"I can't." Phil looked confused, so Clint explained. "You said he asked me to choose. I can't choose. There's no way, Phil. You know what Natasha is to me. You know what you are to me. There is no choice available there. Loki chose, not me. I don't care how mindfucked I was, Phil. I could not have made that choice. And you know it. Deep down you know it."

Phil stared at Clint for a long time, and then he nodded. "Yeah, I know it." And he leaned back into Clint and let him hold him, and after a while they both fell asleep again.

Clint woke first, and he smiled as he watched Phil's face, slack and relaxed in sleep, with no hint of restlessness. He stood and went into the bathroom, washing his face, brushing his teeth, getting the morning started. He padded quietly out to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee and rustled through the refrigerator for some eggs and cheese and began cooking. He'd have breakfast ready; he'd have the newspaper on the table, the news on in the background, juice in the glasses. He'd set up for a normal day so that they could get start to get used to it again, could start to feel together again, could start to feel safe again, when Phil woke.

The End.


End file.
